Shades of Grey
by SilverKytten
Summary: Sequel to 'Falling Into Darkness'. Ichigo never asked to be either loved or fixed, he just asked to be distracted. IchigoXUrahara Yaoi Mature Themes and Language. Elements of canon divergence from late series.
1. Shades of Grey

**If you haven't read 'Falling Into Darkness' then I highly recommend you do, it's not an absolute requirement, but it will give a better perspective on the events of this story. **

**I hadn't planned on writing a sequel so soon, but it seems that ****Kisuke**** has crawled into my brain and keeps whispering bits of plot into my ear. I swear if he wasn't so hot I'd have chased him out of there a long time ago :).**

**I apologize if the characters seem OOC to anyone, but this ****fic**** is set post war and I figured that it would have changed people a bit. ****Kisuke**** is more subdued and thoughtful, and ****Ichigo**** is quite a bit darker, as I imagine you would be if you went into a particularly brutal war at the age of 15. I plan to continue this story periodically, so if something is bothering you please let me know and I will try to address it. It is also worth noting that as the series has progressed, elements of this story have become divergent from canon. This was always bound to happen, and I hope you look beyond that to see the story for what it is.  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. All characters associated with the series are the property of ****Tite**** Kubo.**

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**Shades of Grey**

Urahara woke before the door to his room slid open but didn't bother to open his eyes. The reiatsu was easily identifiable and he'd always found that people do singularly more interesting things when they don't know they're being observed. There was silence for a long moment and he had to fight the urge to take a peek and see what his visitor was up to. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he felt a shift at his feet as the intruder settled onto his futon. Slowly something moved over him, crawling with feline grace, just barely avoiding contact. He felt a warm breath trace across his lips.

"I know you're awake." The voice was sensual and amused.

"It's possible." He cracked an eye open to study the face just inches away.

Ichigo chuckled darkly, letting his weight settle on the body beneath him and bringing a hand up to tangle in the ash blond hair. "I thought you might be lonely."

"Is that so?" Urahara smirked, hands trailing up to circle the younger man's throat, thumbs stroking gently at his pulse points.

Ichigo leaned forward, bringing their lips together in a slow caress, his tongue flicking out to taste the fullness of the lower lip. Urahara made a small sound, lips parting under the slow assault, his own tongue slipping forward into the waiting mouth. Ichigo's other hand slid up to grip one of Urahara's wrists as they moved together languidly. The younger man loved to kiss like this, slowly and skillfully, and it still amazed Urahara that someone who was so reckless and aggressive in every other aspect of his life would be so very different here. Ichigo also liked to kiss with his eyes open, the older man mused, catching that dark, half-lidded gaze so intently fixed on him. As far as Urahara was concerned, it was one of his more erotic traits.

Ichigo pulled back a little, sucking on the other man's tongue, wringing a soft moan from beneath him. Urahara sat up slowly, forcing Ichigo back until the younger man was straddling his hips. Long fingers traced the edge of a just slightly too tight shirt, slipping under to caress the skin beneath. Ichigo made a sound of approval in the back of his throat, nipping at Urahara's lips and trailing a hand down the planes of muscle that had been revealed when the blanket fell away. The older man broke from the kiss, grabbing the hem of the shirt and pulling it away, burying his face in the crook of the exposed neck. He pulled back, nose wrinkling slightly.

"What did you do, run the whole way here?" he admonished gently and felt Ichigo laugh against his skin. It was the first real laugh he'd heard from him in nearly three months.

"I was out fighting a couple of hollows." He sounded genuinely amused, pulling back to meet the green-grey gaze. "I was gonna come here and take a shower but I got distracted with you pretending to be asleep."

"I thought you weren't going to fight in your human body anymore." Urahara chided, hands coming to rest on the lean hips in front of him.

"I was hoping for a bit of a challenge, but they were nothing, even like this." the younger man sighed. He rolled the bud of a peach colored nipple between his thumb and forefinger, drawing a hiss from the older man. "I should have just come here in the first place. You're a much better distraction, Kisuke."

It still sent a jolt through him every time Ichigo said his name in the rough, hungry voice. "I do try."

"I'll tell you what," The younger man detangled himself and rose fluidly, moving towards the bathroom. "I'm going to go take a quick shower and then I'm going to come back here and let you fuck me until I pass out."

He paused in the doorway, smirking over his shoulder and Urahara had to fight the urge to just push him up against the wall right there. Instead, he forced himself to lie back and cock an eyebrow, eyeing him from head to toe."You're going to _let_ me, are you?"

Ichigo's smirk grew, "Or I could fuck you, if you'd like; I'm not picky."

The door slid closed and Urahara threw an arm over his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, damning himself for not having more restraint. It had been little more than a month since that fateful night in the basement and things continued to spiral out of control. Each time Ichigo came over Urahara promised himself it would be the last, that next time he'd find a way to reestablish the proper barriers. It was all a lie, of course, because every time the younger man walked into the room, his eyes dark and rough, Urahara felt something inside him crumble. Every time his name rolled off those lips he knew he'd already lost.

At first it hadn't been so much of a problem, the younger man would come over once or twice a week and leave after an hour or two. It had been easy to convince himself that it was all under control. In the past couple of weeks, though, he'd been coming more and more, slipping in at odd times during the night and staying until dawn. Things had gotten way out of hand and he knew that it was only a matter of time before they were caught.

Urahara felt the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes as his thoughts slipped to Isshin, the dear friend that he couldn't seem to stop betraying. He had a very good idea how the other man would take the news that his old friend was currently fucking his only son, and it was enough to cause him some real worry. Ichigo laughed off his concerns because he'd always viewed his father as something of a good natured oaf, but Urahara knew better, he remembered just how vicious and unforgiving the former shinigami captain could be. As difficult as it might be, he knew that he needed to put a stop to things sooner rather than later.

The sound of a door sliding open stirred him from his thoughts and peeking out from under his arm he found himself faced with the sum of all his worries. Isshin stood at the foot of his futon, foreboding in his shinigami uniform with his zanpakutou unsheathed in his right hand. His eyes were like chipped ice as he stared down at the man in front of him. Urahara couldn't help but wonder if this was one of fates better jokes as he moved the arm fully aside to regard the other man.

"I see you're as good at hiding your reiatsu as ever, Isshin, but don't you think it's a bit late for a visit?" His voice was light as he sat up slowly, spotting Benihime lying on a chair at the far side of the room. He wondered idly when he'd grown so lax.

"I've been worried about Ichigo lately," Isshin spoke softly, his voice as sharp as his blade. "I know he changed a lot after the war, but in the last few weeks it's been different. He disappears at night and turns up looking exhausted, he seems restless and irritable all the time, and he refuses to talk to me about anything he's going through."

"How about I put on some tea?" Urahara started to rise but froze when Isshin leveled him with his zanpakutou.

"I decided to follow him, in case he was in some trouble that I didn't know about. I watched him fight a couple of hollows with his bare hands and I was really worried that he was going to get himself hurt. I was actually _relived_ when I saw him come in here, if you can believe that." He laughed a hollow laugh, the sound cutting across Urahara like a whip, "I thought I would stop in, see what you were doing, maybe have some tea with my son and my old friend."

"We can still do that, you know?" He could hear the water running in the next room and he knew that he had to diffuse this before Ichigo rematerialized.

"How long have I known you, Kisuke?" Isshin's reiatsu was starting to flutter as his control slipped, his voice rising in anger. "How long have I trusted you?"

"We've been friends a long time, Isshin, whatever's wrong we can talk about it." He raised his hands in a placating gesture, casting about for a means of escape.

"How long have you been fucking my son, Kisuke?" Isshin snarled at him, taking a step forward, zanpakutou pointed at his throat.

Urahara winced, his mind spinning wildly. He considered denying the charge but quickly dismissed the idea, realizing that the other man had likely been standing right outside of the door during he and Ichigo's entire exchange. Sighing, he accepted the fact that he was caught and there was no way out. He met that furious gaze steadily.

"About a month."

Isshin's face contorted as he struggled to contain his rage, "How could you do something like this to him after all he's been through?"

"You make it sound like I'm intentionally harming him." Urahara tried to keep his voice low, even as the guilt washed over him.

"You know better than anyone what he's seen, what he's done. He came back traumatized and instead of helping him when he comes here, you take advantage of him." He was nearly shouting, his reiatsu starting to uncoil despite his attempts to hold it back.

"It wasn't anything like that," Urahara bit out, feeling his own temper begin to stir under the weight of the accusations, "Ichigo may be hurting but he's certainly capable of making his own decisions."

"He's 17 years old, Kisuke!" Isshin roared, fury radiating off of him in thick, smothering waves.

"He'll be 18 next month."

He knew it was the wrong thing to say before the words left his mouth, but he couldn't call them back in time. Isshin's eyes widened fractionally and then narrowed to slits as the full weight of his spirit force crashed into the room. Urahara saw the moment he snapped, eyes flashing with fire and hate. The sword swung up and flashed back down in the blink of an eye and Urahara barely had time to raise an arm before it was on him.

The sound of steel on steel rang out sharply even as he registered the weight settling over him. Folds of black cloth blinded him for a moment and he leaned back, staring up at the boy who seemed to have materialized out nowhere. Ichigo crouched across him, one knee planted on the futon and Zangetsu braced against his forearm as he held back his father's blade. His head was ducked under the weight of the blow and Urahara gasped as he turned his face, pinning him with that eerie silver gaze. He raised his head slowly and Isshin fell back in surprise. There was no recognition, no compassion, only deadly intent in that look.

"Ban-" his snarl was cut off as a hand slid over his mouth, drawing his back against a hard chest.

"I rather like my store in one piece, if it's all the same to you." Urahara murmured into his ear, brushing his nose against the lobe and down his jaw in a soothing motion.

Ichigo's body thrummed with power as he stared up at the man who had dared come to this place as a threat; Zangetsu screamed for release in his hand. Urahara continued to whisper into his ear, the fingers dropping from his mouth to drift across his chest, holding him tighter against his body. There was a pounding of feet in the hall and the door was thrown open to reveal three worried faces.

"Kisuke-san?" Ururu sounded scared as her eyes darted between the three men.

"It's fine, just a bit of a misunderstanding." Urahara responded pleasantly; chin resting on Ichigo's shoulder, "Go back to bed."

"But…" she hesitated, eyes fixed on Isshin who still looked thunderstruck, sword now dangling limp in his hand.

"It'll be okay, Ururu, Isshin just got a bit upset." He pinned the other man with a hard, warning look.

His staff looked unconvinced but didn't argue further, sliding the door back into place and retreating down the hall. Ichigo seemed to have regained himself a bit and Urahara loosened his hold, drawing the younger man further across his lap so that he could see his face.

"Ichigo," the younger man tore his gaze from his father and Urahara was relieved to see that his eyes had returned to normal, "I think things have settled down a bit, how about you go find your body."

"I'm not leaving you alone with _him_." he spat the last word out, swinging around again to glare at the other man, seeing him flinch under the fury of that stare.

"You know, if I were a lesser man, I might think you were implying that I'm unable to take care of myself. That would be fairly insulting." He stared down at the younger man for a moment before turning his attention to his old friend. "Isshin and I will be fine for a few minutes, won't we?"

Isshin, still standing frozen and wide eyed, managed a nod.

"See, it's settled. You go get that body of yours and I'll make us all some tea so we can talk." The voice was soft but the eyes were hard as flint. He leaned down nudging the younger mans ear, whispering so that only he could hear, "You have to calm down, Ichigo."

The younger man made a noncommittal noise but some of the tension seemed to fall away as Urahara released him. His eyes never left his father as he stalked across the room to retrieve Benihime, tossing the zanpakutou to Urahara before returning to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. The blond ran a hand across his face, sighing as he stared down into his lap. Throwing back the rest of the blanket he rolled slowly to his feet, taking the time to pull on a patterned robe before making his way towards the door.

"Come along, Isshin, some tea will do us both some good." He muttered to the man still staring forward in shock.

"Did my son just try to kill me, Kisuke?" The confusion and pain were clear in his voice as he turned to face his long time friend, sword dragging roughly against the floor.

Urahara paused, hand resting on the doorframe, staring into space. "It's possible, Isshin. Can't really say for certain because I cut him off so fast, but your son doesn't respond well to the type of anger you were displaying back there. It touches on too many memories."

"He looked like he didn't even recognize me." His voice hitched slightly, his knuckles white against the hilt of his zanpakutou.

"He very likely didn't." Urahara's voice was soft.

"He seemed to know you." Isshin snarled bitterly.

"Maybe, maybe not." He stepped out of the room and headed towards the kitchen, not bothering to check if the other man was following.

He filled the teapot and set it over the fire, leaning a shoulder against the wall as he watched the flames dance. He knew that he should have been prepared for something like this, but in truth he wasn't. He had no real answers for the questions that were sure to come. He felt a presence behind him but didn't turn, knowing that to do so would only invite conversation.

"Do you love him?" The question came anyway, and Urahara's eyes slid closed at the bite in the other's tone.

"I'm very fond of Ichigo." His grip on Benihime tightened fractionally.

"That's not the same thing." Isshin growled and Urahara felt him move closer.

"I know that." He turned to meet the eyes of the larger man. "I didn't think you'd appreciate a lie."

Isshin looked like he wanted to say something but he held himself back, staring hard at the other man for a moment before turning and stalking from the room. Urahara followed a few minutes later with the tea and three cups. He found Isshin already seated on a cushion at the table, staring into the patterns of the wood as if they could give him the answers he so desperately wanted. Urahara frowned in the direction of his room, wondering what was keeping Ichigo. He considered checking to see if the younger man had simply snuck out the back while he had the chance.

"How could you do this, Kisuke?" Isshin's voice cut through his thoughts, a mixture of anger and grief.

"The situation's more complicated than you seem to believe." Urahara sighed, seating himself at the table and pouring them both some tea.

"Why don't you explain it to me then?" He was nearly shouting again, "Explain to me what's so complicated that my friend of several _centuries_ can't seem to not fuck my emotionally traumatized, 17 year old son."

That hit a nerve, "You have to take Ichigo into account here, Isshin. He's very strong willed and once he gets something into his head it's awfully hard to knock it back out."

"Are you honestly going to try to pin this on Ichigo?" His control was starting to slip again, his face red with fury.

"Of course not." Urahara snapped, "But he's not a child and he certainly wasn't the victim of some nefarious plot of mine. He made his own decision."

"He's too young to know what he really wants." Isshin bellowed.

Whatever reply Urahara might have had was cut off as Ichigo stalked into the room wearing a dark green silk robe that Urahara recognized as his own. He stopped just inside the doorway, surveying the two men, face set in stone. Without uttering a word he walked straight over to where Urahara sat, stepping lightly across him and lowered himself to straddle the older man's lap. One hand came up to tangle in the pale hair, pulling the head back as he brought their lips together.

Even now, with all the tension and rage that had passed between the three, with all of the anger seeping through his own veins, Ichigo still kissed slowly. He brought his free hand up to cup the other mans jaw, thumb tugging at his chin, opening his mouth so that his tongue could slip inside. Urahara's breath hitched and he brought a hand up, though whether he was trying to push the younger man away or pull him closer no one could tell. Ichigo caught the hand in his own, lacing their fingers together, twisting around so that both rested at the small of his back. Tongues dueled slowly as Urahara gave in to the kiss, knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the table with his free hand. Ichigo finally pulled back, tugging Urahara's lower lip gently between his teeth, staring at him with that half-lidded gaze.

"This really isn't helping the situation, you know." The older man pointed out softly, feeling Isshin's reiatsu flaring somewhere behind Ichigo.

"Yeah, well some people should just mind their own business." He raised his voice a bit, casting a glare back over his shoulder to where his father was barely managing to keep his seat.

Ichigo rose slowly, adjusting his robe, and sank onto his own cushion between his father and his lover. Reaching forward he poured himself some tea, accepting the sugar that Urahara passed him without having to be asked.

"I suppose you think you're proving some sort of point, son." Isshin struggled to keep his tone even.

"Only that I'm not being molested, or manipulated, or whatever it is that you think is going on." He didn't bother to look up, just continued to stir sugar into the dark liquid.

"You've been through a lot; it's understandable that you're confused right now." The larger man's tone was soothing, as if he were talking to a frightened child.

Ichigo smiled faintly. "There's a lot of shit wrong in my head, dad, but I'm really not confused about wanting Kisuke to fuck me. That one's pretty clear."

Isshin bristled, "I don't know what he's been telling you but this isn't going to help you fix your problems and he certainly doesn't love you. You're just some sort of toy to him."

He tore his gaze away from his son to glare at the man who had remained quiet up until this point. Urahara's eyes narrowed and he opened him mouth to reply but Ichigo beat him to it.

"I'm pretty sure that last part isn't true, and as for the rest, I never asked him to love me or fix me, I just asked him to distract me." Ichigo's voice was hard.

"Even if that's true, he should have said no instead of taking advantage of you when you were vulnerable." Isshin's fist smashed into the table, upending his cup and sending tea across the hard wood surface.

"He did say no," Ichigo was yelling, too. "If you want to feel bad about somebody getting molested then feel bad for Kisuke, he says no all the time."

Isshin's gaze flicked to Urahara who just shrugged slightly as if to say that he would rather stay out of it. "Well he obviously isn't saying it with enough force."

"What the fuck is your problem?" Ichigo demanded, his reiatsu stirring around him. "Are you pissed that I'm fucking to escape my problems, or is it specifically because it's with Kisuke?"

"Stop calling him that." Isshin roared, "You're 17! I don't care if you want to be with another man but you should be with someone your own age, not some perverted old fool who was a friend of mine before your mother's grandmother's grandmother was even born."

"And what am I going to talk to this boy, this _child_, about?" Ichigo hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Am I supposed to listen to him talk about the car he wants to buy, or what he got on a chemistry exam and pretend like I care? Maybe I could entertain him with stories of what it's like to be held down by three people while someone slaughter's half of your team; or how about what it feels like to have a friend begging you to kill them before the darkness fully takes hold and uses them as a tool for the other side. Do you think he's going to pat me on the back and tell me that he knows what I'm going through?"

Isshin felt like he'd been struck, staring at the pain and rage etched into his son's face. He looked to Urahara but found the other man had turned away, eyes shut against some memory that Ichigo's words had stirred.

"The point is that this isn't healthy." He lowered his voice, trying to calm his son.

"I don't really care." Ichigo sat back, the emotionless mask slipping into place.

"Well I do, and I'm not leaving you here." Isshin stood, moving around the table towards his son.

Ichigo reached into the sash at his waist, clutching something tight against him. He stood slowly to meet his father, shinigami robes fluttering slightly as his body fell away. "I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight."

"It wasn't a request, Ichigo, I'm your father and I'm taking you home." Isshin reached out and grabbed around the upper arm.

The younger man looked up at his father and then down at the hand restraining him, remorse flickering briefly across his face. His eyes slipped closed and even Urahara seemed to shudder as Ichigo brought the full weight of his power to bear in the confines of the small room. Isshin felt his head start to swim as he struggled to stay upright. Ichigo's eyes reopened and his father flinched as he was met once again with that cold silver stare.

"You don't have the power to force me against my will." His voice was soft and unbearably tired.

"I was a captain, you know. I'm not so easily intimidated." Isshin was panting but he refused to give in.

"Please don't make me show you my mask." The larger man's eyes widened as the meaning of his son's words sunk in.

Urahara stood, wincing at the pressure in the room, and wrapped his arms around Ichigo from behind, resting his chin next to his ear. "You're going to scare the children again. This obviously isn't going to be settled here, and I think everybody's had enough for tonight."

Ichigo relaxed a bit under the touch, his reiatsu releasing its death grip on them all and retreating slowly back into his body.

"I'm not leaving my son here with you." Isshin repeated, glaring at Urahara though his voice had lost its earlier conviction.

"Yes you are, Isshin, because he's right." His voice held no tone of triumph, only sense of weary acceptance, "It's safer to let him cool off here anyway."

The larger man clenched his fists tight, knowing he was out of options and hating it.

"This isn't over." he spat, his jaw clenching.

"I know." Urahara stepped back, taking Ichigo with him to clear a path out.

Isshin gave them both one last, disgusted look and then swept out of the room. A moment later a harsh slamming in the distance marked his exit from the building. Ichigo let his head fall back onto Urahara's shoulder and the older man turned his face to nuzzle against his cheek, still holding the lithe body in place.

"That didn't go so well." he murmured, resting a hand on the arms that held him captive.

"It went better than I expected," Urahara admitted, lips brushing the younger man's ear as he straightened to his full height. "I'm still alive, after all."

"That's not funny." Ichigo pulled away slightly, turning to face him.

"I didn't mean it to be." He brought a hand up to the side of Ichigo's neck, thumb stroking the skin behind his jaw. "Come on, let's go to bed, all this nonsense has worn me out."

Ichigo stooped to retrieve his body, embracing it and forcing his spirit back inside. His old shinigami substitute badge was still clutched in his hand and he tucked it safely back into his sash before regaining his feet. He let Urahara steer him back in the direction of his room but was brought up short when they passed into the hall and discovered Ururu and Jinta sitting against opposite walls, facing each other.

"I thought I told you two to go back to bed?" Urahara scolded gently.

"Is he going to come back, Kisuke-san?" Ururu was still staring off in the direction that Isshin had gone.

The older man sighed, crouching down in front of her. "I'm sure he will, but not tonight. Don't worry about it, Ururu."

"He seemed pretty pissed." Jinta noted, his eyes moving between the two men.

"That he did." Urahara stood, offering each of them a hand.

"Maybe you two shoulda been a bit more subtle." The boy cocked an eyebrow, smirking up at him.

Urahara gaped at him slightly, unsure of what the boy did or didn't know and Jinta's smirk grew.

"Thin walls, old man, and it ain't like you two were quiet to begin with." He put an arm around Ururu, who was blushing slightly and refusing to meet the older men's eyes, leading her off down the hall.

"Well that was awkward." Urahara muttered, pushing Ichigo ahead of him, into his room.

He slid the door closed and turned to find the younger man standing less than a foot away, eyes dark with rising lust. Urahara leaned back against the door, watching and waiting. Ichigo stepped forward, pinning him to the wood and bringing their mouths together in a searing kiss. Hands rose, tracing and caressing. Urahara pulled him closer, fingers digging into the silk of the robe, pulling it down over one shoulder. He broke the kiss; lips burning a path down the younger mans neck. Ichigo threw back his head, arching into the touch.

"Gods, Ichigo, we shouldn't be doing this." Urahara panted into the hollow of his throat. "Not after everything that just happened."

"Probably not." Ichigo agreed, pulling at the tie on Urahara's robe as he tugged the cloth aside to nip at the top of his shoulder.

The older man brought his hands to the chest pressed against him, tearing the last of the silk roughly away, baring Ichigo completely before him. Their mouths came together again, hot and needy, tongues stroking and writhing. Ichigo moaned thrusting forward against the soft cloth of the pants the other had worn to bed. He arched away, shoving a hand between their bodies to rip at the tie, pushing inside to curl his fingers around the waiting erection. Urahara hissed, hips driving forward into the touch.

Ichigo lost his grip when the other man moved suddenly, shifting his weight to reverse the position, shoving him against the wall. Urahara fingers dug into his hips as he pressed forward, grinding their weeping arousals together. Ichigo moaned as his head rolled against the wood, granting better access to the tongue that was doing wicked things to the soft skin behind his ear. A slender hand snaked between their writhing bodies, fingers curling around as much of both erections as they could manage, stroking a steady rhythm.

"Fuck, Kisuke." Ichigo groaned, thrusting helplessly under the skilled touch, eyes rolling back.

Urahara dragged his mouth along his jaw, recapturing that hot mouth, drinking in the cries as he continued to drive them towards the edge. He released his hold on Ichigo's hip, breaking the kiss and running two fingers over the younger man's swollen lower lip. Ichigo opened his mouth, drawing them in, rolling his tongue over them sensuously while holding that green-grey gaze. Urahara moaned in the back of his throat, removing the fingers and thrusting his tongue between those still parted lips. He slipped his hand down behind Ichigo, teasing his opening, knuckles scraping against smooth wood. Ichigo whimpered against his lips when the first finger slipped in, pressing back into the hand, needy and wanting.

"Gods, Kisuke, please…nnggg…" He broke off, a shudder running through his body as a second finger joined the first.

Urahara pulled them both off the wall, spinning in a complex dance of hands, teeth and aching bodies until Ichigo connected roughly with the wall across the room.

"Sorry." Urahara mumbled against sweat soaked skin, not sounding in the least bit sorry as his fingers resumed their previous exploration.

Ichigo's arm shot out, scattering the contents of a nearby table as he fumbled to open a drawer, fingers closing around a nearly empty bottle.

"Here," he gritted out, shoving the lube at the older man's chest.

Urahara took the bottle from him, removing his fingers from the trembling body and spinning the younger man to face the wall, holding him in place with his own weight.

"Fuck, you're hot when you're aggressive." Ichigo panted, eyes dark and burning as he stared back over his shoulder.

Urahara just smirked, kissing him on the back of the neck as he flipped the bottle open. He drizzled lube over three fingers before plunging them back into the waiting body, twisting them to spread the liquid. Ichigo groaned as those fingers brushed that electric spot inside of him and Urahara curled them, thrusting harder until Ichigo had to bite his forearm to keep from screaming. The fingers were removed roughly and then there was something larger in their place, driving into him in one swift and fluid motion.

He threw his head back and gritted his teeth against the blinding sensation as the other man began to thrust into him, hard and fast. There was no time for slow tonight, emotions were too high and they were both flying too close to the edge. Urahara leaned forward, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of the younger man's shoulder. Ichigo braced himself against the wall with one hand, the other finding the back of the blond head, pulling him down harder.

The thrusts grew wilder, deeper, and Ichigo dropped his forehead against the wall, reaching down to pump himself in time. Urahara's fingers were digging into him with enough force to bruise but Ichigo didn't care because he was hitting that spot with every stroke and he was starting to get light headed. The next thrust put him over the edge and he came hard, splattering the wall in front of him and coating his own hand. Urahara made a choking sound against the back of his neck and he felt him shudder, throbbing inside of him.

Neither could move for a long moment. Ichigo felt arms slip around his waist and he leaned his head back against the other mans shoulder, still panting. As their heart rates began to even out, Urahara withdrew slowly from his body, dragging him back around so that they were face to face. He leaned down slightly, resting his forehead against Ichigo's, his breath stirring across the younger mans lips. He looked exhausted and a little bit sad.

The sadness spoke to Ichigo and he tilted his chin, bringing their lips together. There was no real passion to the kiss, just an understanding passing between two people who had seen and done far too many things that no one should ever have to.

**(*)**

"As wrong as all of this was, I think I'm still going to miss it." Urahara mused, fingers tracing idol patterns in the orange hair resting against his chest. They had long since showered and were curled into the futon.

"What the hell does that mean?" Ichigo pulled away, propping himself up on an elbow so that he could look at the other man.

"After everything that's happened you can't possibly expect to keep this up." Urahara sighed, brushing the backs of his knuckles against the sharp edge of the boy's cheekbone, "Best thing for everyone is to put some space between us."

"Fuck that." Ichigo huffed, dropping back down to his previous position.

Urahara stared at the top of his head "You're involving yourself in an unhealthy relationship with a _much _older man just for the sake of a bit of diversion in your already unstable life, all of which your very angry and scary father has just discovered, and your answer to the only available solution is 'fuck that'?"

"Fuck that' isn't a terribly complicated statement, Kisuke, what part didn't you understand?" Ichigo smirked into his chest, turning his head to lick a slow circle around one of his nipples.

"The part where you refuse to be even the slightest bit reasonable, though I don't know why I'm still surprised by it." He threw an arm over his face, burying his other hand in the mess of bright hair.

"Fuck reasonable." Ichigo chuckled darkly, settling into a more comfortable position.

Urahara couldn't help the sound of amusement that escaped him despite his best efforts as he lay there grinning in the darkness. He realized that Kurosaki Ichigo might very well be the death of him someday, but at least he could say that it was never a boring ride.


	2. Commiseration

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach. All characters associated with the series are the property of Tite Kubo, I am simply borrowing them for my own amusement.

**Commiseration**

Urahara Kisuke loved to sleep. He wasn't particularly lazy, and he didn't even have to sleep that long, he just loved that peaceful, drifting feeling. He had decided, however, that there were certain things that were infinitely more enjoyable than sleep, not the least of which was waking up to a hand around your cock and a hot tongue stroking your nipple.

"Don't you ever sleep?" he murmured, his head falling back on a gasp as Ichigo bit down on the hardened bud.

"I have to be up soon anyway." Ichigo licked a trail up his exposed throat.

"And I suppose you think that means that I need to get up as well?" Urahara's voice was husky as he tipped his chin away, baring more of his neck to the slow caress.

"You're already up, Kisuke." Ichigo lips tickled against his jaw as he gave the cock in his hand a gently squeeze.

"Why do I think you're to blame for that as well?" he groaned, turning his head to capture the younger man's lips.

Ichigo shifted his weight more firmly atop the blond and sank into the kiss. Hands snaked up his back, pulling him closer, kneading softly at his muscles. They hadn't bothered redressing last night and their bare skin rubbed together enticingly, providing the most delicious friction that went straight to Ichigo's groin. The writhed together, hot and consuming, as though trying to crawl into each other's skin.

Ichigo slid lower, lips trailing over the chin, rough with stubble, tongue dipping into the hollow between the delicate curves of the collarbones. Urahara gasped, arching into the sweat slicked skin pressing against his aching arousal as Ichigo slid across him, pausing briefly to pay his respects to the tightly coiled nipples. He continued his slow journey, tongue flicking over ribs, teeth nipping at the stomach muscles that twitched under the torturous assault. He lapped gently at the sensitive skin just inside the jutting hip bone and had to hold the older man down as he jerked off the ground.

"Gods, Ichigo." Urahara's eyes snapped closed and his hand found its way into the mess of orange hair, pressing him closer.

Ichigo moaned against the tender flesh, dragging his mouth sideways until his nose brushed against the straining erection. He could smell the arousal thick in the air and licked at the moisture already smeared across the other man's stomach. His panting breath ghosted across the bobbing head hovering just in front of his lips and Urahara bit back a groan as he twitched involuntarily.

Ichigo's tongue darted out, smearing the pearls of liquid around the velvety skin before drawing him into his mouth. Urahara couldn't stifle the noise he made that time, his hand tightening in the hair, fighting the urge to push the younger man down. Ichigo's hands slid up to hold his hips, thumbs stroking circles over the hypersensitive hipbones as his head slowly rose and fell. He moaned around Urahara's length, loving the taste of him, and reveling in the way the vibrations made him writhe against the floor.

Ichigo pulled away panting, searching out the pale gaze and found the other man watching him, eyes glittering with desire.

"Do you want me to fuck you, Kisuke?" he purred silkily, running his tongue up the vein on the underside of his cock and watching his eyes darken slightly.

"Is that what _you_ want?" Urahara panted, unwilling to give in just yet.

Ichigo just smirked and cast around for the bottle they'd had last night, finding it half tucked under the futon as if placed there intentionally. He fell forward again, taking Urahara into his mouth, relaxing his throat so that he could swallow him to the hilt. The older man groaned, throwing his head back and biting his lip. Ichigo worked him mercilessly with tongue, and throat, and a little bit of teeth until the former captain had both hands fisted in his hair and was thrusting helplessly against him.

He managed to get the lube open and coated two fingers. Urahara drew his knees up instinctively when he felt the slick pressure sliding down behind his balls. Ichigo teased his opening gently, drawing off his cock enough to swirl his tongue around the head.

"Do _you_ want me to fuck you?" he repeated, lapping at his flesh, one finger slipping in to the first knuckle.

"Gods…uhhh…stop talking and do it." He was straining against the finger, trying to drive it deeper.

It drove Urahara crazy with need when Ichigo wanted to top and he could already feel his sanity slipping. The younger man usually just wanted to be fucked, because he wasn't terribly experienced and he worried about doing it wrong. As far as Urahara was concerned, the worries were unfounded because Ichigo was an amazingly fast learner and this was one lesson he'd excelled at.

The finger slipped in all the way and Urahara felt his eyes start to roll as Ichigo returned his attention to trying to swallow him whole. The finger twisted and curled, dragging a rough cry from him as he bucked wildly. Definitely a fast learner. The second finger slipped in and there was a tingling, stretching feeling as Ichigo scissored them gently. Urahara was whimpering and he bit his lip again, forcing his eyes open.

"Just do it, Ichigo." He couldn't wait any longer.

Ichigo pulled back and grasped his hips, pushing his knees up towards his chest. He poured a little more lube over his own arousal and aligned himself with the waiting body, drawing a steadying breath before pushing into the welcoming heat. Urahara moaned deeply as they slid together and he could hear Ichigo hiss above him. They lay there panting for a moment as they adjusted, more for Ichigo's sake than his own. The tight, pulsing heat was always a bit overwhelming for the younger man.

A few breaths later Ichigo was back under control enough to move, retreating slightly and then slipping back inside, all the while watching the other man's face. Urahara knew what he was looking for and angled his hips, rolling up to meet the thrust, feeling a jolt of pleasure surge through him. As soon as he saw the shiver pass through the other body, Ichigo began to pick up his pace, pounding into him with long, steady strokes, gritting his teeth against the building pressure.

They found their rhythm together, rocking into each other, incoherent noises falling from parted lips. Urahara braced a hand against Ichigo's forearm, thrusting harder against him, wringing a cry from them both. Ichigo didn't have the stamina to keep up this pace for long, but his body refused to pull back, refused to slow down. Urahara didn't seem to be doing much better, soft cries tumbling from him at nearly every thrust. No matter what he did, he could never keep quiet when Ichigo was pounding into him like that.

Urahara reached up and grabbed a handful of hair, dragging him down for a heated kiss. "Gods I love it when you fuck me like this." he moaned, nipping at the younger man's lips.

Ichigo shuddered, nearly coming on the spot as the words rolled over him. He loved it when Urahara said fuck almost as much as the other man loved the sound of his own name from Ichigo's lips. He sat back, reaching out to grasp the arousal between them, sliding his thumb across the weeping tip. Urahara came instantly, choking on a groan, already too far gone from the constant stroking against his prostate. Ichigo managed a hand full more thrusts into the pulsing body before he lost himself, a harsh cry ripping from him, stinging his throat.

Ichigo pulled out gently, wincing as his oversensitive flesh complained. He collapsed next to the other man, raising a hand to brush some of the hair from his eyes.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" It was hard to sound worried when you were still panting through the afterglow of an orgasm.

"Does it look like you hurt me?" Urahara sighed in amused exasperation, rolling over to throw an arm over the younger man's chest. "You never hurt me; you're amazingly good, in fact."

Ichigo smirked, his eyes slipping shut. "I guess I had a good teacher."

"Let's just say you have natural talent." Urahara corrected, tracing soft patterns on his ribs. "Thinking of myself as your teacher makes me feel old."

"Well then you're not going to like the reminder that I have to go soon or I'm going to be late for school." he breathed, bringing his own hand up to grip the arm across his chest.

Urahara groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his forehead against Ichigo's shoulder. 'You're so cruel." he pouted, though the guilt that coursed through him was all too real.

Ichigo didn't respond, just threaded his hand into his ash blond hair, enjoying the last few minutes of peace before he had to brave the outside world.

**(*)**

Ichigo slipped quietly into his house, setting his keys on the table before heading upstairs. He hadn't planned on the fiasco last night so he'd left his school uniform in his closet when he'd gone out. He scowled at the fact that he was in school at all, but that fight was long over. His father had insisted that he finish the last year, probably in hopes that he could have something of a normal life someday. Ichigo laughed bitterly. Normalcy was overrated.

He flipped the light on in his room and was about to kick the door shut when he noticed a figure curled up on his bed. He closed the door quietly but it was already too late, the light had been enough to disrupt her slumber. He watched as she stirred, brushing dark locks back from her face as lashes swept up over sleep clouded eyes. Her gaze sharpened instantly.

"Ichi-nii, you're home." She pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"Hey, Karin, what are you doing in here so early?" He dropped down next to her, reclining against the wall.

"You didn't come home last night." She leaned back as well, her knees drawn up in front of her.

"I don't come home a lot of nights." he pointed out ruefully.

She nodded but didn't reply. Out of all of his family, she knew him best; she understood what drove him to be what he was. He'd managed to keep the majority of the war away from his family, but he hadn't always been successful. At 13 she was already more of an adult than half of the people he knew and as much as he hated it for having to be this way, it had brought them closer. She had that look in her eyes, the same one that he saw in his own every time he looked into a mirror. She was weary and damaged. She was also never going to break; he recognized that in her too.

When everything had ended the Shinigami had come, like they always did, to modify the memories of the humans that had been unwittingly involved. They had come for Karin and Yuzu, because they were human and more importantly because they were children. Children shouldn't have to see death and blood; they shouldn't have to know those things that no one wants to know. They had come but they hadn't been prepared. They gave no warning, just tried to go about their business without a care for what they looked like barging into the house. Karin was vicious when she was angry, which was probably why she had survived everything she had, but she was frightening when it came to protecting Yuzu.

The first Shinigami through the door had barely managed to raise his hand and she was already on him. He tried to throw her off but she kicked him hard enough to crack the wall he hit on his way down. Ichigo had heard about the plan to late to stop it and had burst through the door just as she launched herself bodily at the second man, screaming for Yuzu to run. It was the same scream he'd heard her use when the Arrancar had broken down their door, looking for him, looking for Rukia. He'd almost killed them in that moment, for coming into his home, for causing that look in Karin's eyes after he'd promised her that it was over. In the end, it was Byakuya of all people who saved them, having seen Ichigo's flight and followed to restrain him. Karin had turned on them both and only his own sharp command had stopped her from flying at the captain holding him down. She had been two months from her 12th birthday, and she had been ferocious. Nothing he'd been through had prepared him to see that look in her eyes as she crouched ready to strike, ready to kill. She would have died for him, for Yuzu, and he loved her for it even as it broke his heart.

When the situation had been explained to her she'd snarled at the Shinigami, refusing to be altered, refusing to disrespect those who had been lost by choosing to forget them so easily. It hadn't mattered by that point, once they saw the level of her reiatsu they doubted the procedure would have worked anyway. They modified Yuzu. She would have broken.

"Dad was pissed earlier." Karin's voice broke through his musings and he rolled his head to look at her.

"I bet he was." he smirked humorlessly.

"Because of you?" she was frowning, more at her own thoughts than at him.

"I'm sure he sees it that way." He turned back towards the empty room. "Shouldn't you have been asleep by then?"

"I was," she admitted, still watching him. "He was mad enough that it woke me up."

"Was it the noise or the reiatsu?" he asked, lips tightening as the anger started to simmer.

"A bit of both," she sighed, "Are you okay? You're not in trouble are you?"

He knew that she didn't mean with their father. "No, we're just having a difference of opinion on how I should live my life."

She laughed, small and sharp, but it was a laugh. "That almost sounds like normal teenage shit, how weird is that."

"Don't say shit," he admonished without any heat, cracking his own half smile at her take on things.

She rolled her eyes and leaned over onto his shoulder, maneuvering his arm so that he was holding her. They just sat there for a moment in comfortable silence, lending each other their support. Like all things in their lives, though, it wasn't meant to last. The light in the hall flipped on and they heard heavy steps ascending the stairs. The knob turned and the door flew open to reveal Isshin, hard eyes flashing. He seemed to draw up short at the sight of his daughter curled against the son he'd been seeking.

"Would you excuse us, Karin, I need to have a word with your brother." His voice was hard and his attempted smile felt more like glass than anything.

"What did you do?" she demanded, pulling away from the embrace to glare at her father.

Ichigo dropped a hand onto her shoulder, stilling her rage. "It's okay, Karin, it's better if you just go."

She gave him a hard look but nodded, sweeping out the door with one more glare at the man half blocking the way.

"What do you want?" Ichigo muttered as Isshin closed the door behind him.

"You know what I want." He had that same patronizingly calm tone from the night before and Ichigo wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

"I think we said all we needed to last night." He dragged himself off the bed and went to his closet, pulling out a uniform and tossing it over a chair.

"The hell we did." Isshin bit out, taking a couple of steps towards him before forcing himself to stop. "You don't really think I'm going to allow this to continue, do you?"

"See, I definitely remember talking about this last night." Ichigo pointed out as he pulled his shirt over his head. "I already told you that it wasn't up to you."

"I'm still your father, Ichigo, whether you like it or not." That tone he kept using was starting to grate on Ichigo's last nerve.

"I know who you are, but this isn't your business." he ground out, stepping out of his pants and into his uniform.

"I'm not just going to stand back while you ruin your life." Isshin's voice was rising and Ichigo felt a small thrill of success at having broken through that horrible, false calm.

"No one's ruining anything," he snapped back. "No one's getting hurt and I'm even still going to school. You're the only one causing a problem here."

"What about your sisters, do you think you're setting a good example for them?" Isshin was closer now, his face flushed with anger.

"Don't you _dare_ bring them into this; you know it has nothing to do with them." Ichigo snarled, his own temper slipping through his fingers.

"The hell it doesn't, they need you here," he bellowed.

"I'll always be here for them, and you know it." Ichigo's eyes narrowed to icy slits.

"You weren't here for them last night; you were off getting into dangerous fights and running around with that damn pervert." They were nearly toe to toe by now.

"So now it's my fault? I thought you were all about blaming Kisuke. Why don't you make up your mind?" Ichigo mocked, knowing that his sisters could probably hear every word but beyond caring by that point.

"It _is_ his fault! You might be to blame for being shortsighted and stubborn, but you're a kid, that's part of life. He's way too old for this shit, he _knows_ better. I should kill him for what he's done to you." Isshin raged, wisps of reiatsu dancing dangerously around him.

"If you lay a hand on him I'll make sure you regret it." Ichigo felt his own reiatsu starting to rise. "Kisuke hasn't done anything worse than be there for me when I needed someone."

Isshin was beyond furious as he reached out to grab his son again. "He's nothing but a traitor and a pervert who took advantage of a kid who was too hurt and stupid to see what was happening."

"You know nothing about Kisuke and even less about me if you think that's true." Ichigo wrenched his arm away, trying to move around the larger man.

"Stop calling him that." Isshin was nearly screaming as he blocked his path again.

"I'll call him whatever the fuck I want." Ichigo pushed him hard, sending him staggering backwards a few steps. "We've fought and killed and nearly died together, you have no fucking right to say anything."

"Where do you think you're going?" Isshin yelled after him as he finally ripped the door open.

"I'm going to school. You remember school, right? It was your idea after all." Ichigo sneered at him from the doorway, daring his father to stop him.

They both stood there for several long moments, neither willing to be the first to look away. Isshin finally growled, a hard and angry sound in the back of his throat. "I want you back here as soon as class lets out."

"Sure, whatever." Ichigo pivoted sharply on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

"I mean it, Ichigo," his father called after him. "This conversation is not over."

There was no answer from the retreating back and Isshin slammed his fist into the wall in frustration. He hadn't meant to yell, but everything he planned to say seemed to fall apart every time he pictured Ichigo standing there last night with Urahara's arms wrapped around him. He growled again. He was definitely not done with his former friend, not by a long shot. He was going to protect his son whether he liked it or not.

Ichigo stormed into the kitchen and wasn't surprised to find both Karin and Yuzu there. Karin was sitting at the table and simply gave him an appraising look as he passed. Yuzu looked terrified. One look at her wide eyes and trembling lip and Ichigo felt his rage slip away.

"Don't worry, Yuzu." He folded her into a hug, awkwardly patting her back as her breath hitched. "I didn't mean to yell like that."

"What's going on?" She sounded like she was crying into his shirt.

"It's nothing, just me and dad fighting. You should be used to that." He was trying to tease but he couldn't manage the tone. He exchanged a look with Karin over the top of her head.

"Come on, Yuzu, Ichi-nii's going to be late for school if you don't let him go." She pried her sister off Ichigo, handing her a tissue and looking at the clock. "Actually, we're going to be late, too."

Yuzu nodded shakily, wiping at her eyes and running to retrieve the lunches she'd made. Ichigo pushed them both out the front door, glad to be escaping before their father decided to make another appearance. It was bad enough fighting in front of Karin, who at least remembered why there might be tension, but doing so front of Yuzu, whose memories were all soft and gentle, was unforgivable. He vowed to make sure the girls were as far away from the next argument as possible.

As they walked he did his best to lighten the mood, trying to remember stories from a happier time. By the time they parted ways Yuzu was smiling again, and Karin and Ichigo were wearing the masks they showed to the outside world. It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough.

**(*)**

When the bell sounded at the end of the day Ichigo was surprised. If anyone asked him what had gone on in his classes he'd have had no answer for them, it all seemed like a blur in his mind. A couple of friends asked if he had plans that night, but he told them he was busy. They accepted it easily; they were used to it by now. Sometimes he wondered why they still tried. They waved goodbye cheerfully and turned in the opposite direction, leaving him alone on the sidewalk. He looked up the street towards home but felt the anger already beginning to stir. He went the other way.

When Urahara's shop came into view he felt the tension finally start to slip out of him. He had no idea why the other man's presence was so soothing to him but he was grateful for it. He silently noted that Isshin should be grateful for it, too, if he really knew what was good for him. He pushed the thought aside, not wanting to think about home or the fight that awaited there.

He slid open the front door and found Ururu sorting through items on one of the shelves, pausing now and then to jot down notes on a pad. She blinked up at him when he drew near, blushing slightly as she recognized him.

"I'll get Kisuke-san," she mumbled, eyes still on the floor.

"Thanks." He couldn't quite hide the smirk at her reaction.

He hadn't even made it out of the room when the other man joined him, stepping through the door and running an appraising eye over him.

"I take it things didn't go well with Isshin?" he enquired, leaning against the wall and folding his arms across his chest.

"We got into it this morning." Ichigo confirmed. "Loud enough for the girls to hear."

Urahara winced, pulling his hat a bit lower over his eyes. "Must have been bad for you to still be so angry."

"It was just the same shit." Ichigo growled, stalking slowly towards him. "He just yells and doesn't listen."

"He's worried about you." Urahara pointed out, dropping his arms as the younger man edged closer. "I think maybe you should reconsider distancing yourself from me."

"I thought we already went over this. I gave you an answer." Ichigo reached up and pulled the hat free, studying it for a moment before tossing it over his shoulder.

"Ah yes, I believe it was along the lines of 'fuck that', or something equally well thought out." His eyes slipped part way closed as fingers tangled in his hair.

"See, I knew you remembered."

Ichigo leaned in to run his tongue over Urahara's lower lip before following with his own mouth. The older man gave in immediately, his lips parting to allow his tongue to twine with the one begging entrance. Ichigo moaned softly, pressing himself forward into the other body. Urahara's hand came up to grip the back of his head, pulling him in deeper, slanting his head so that he could reach every corner of his mouth.

Ichigo slipped his hands from the pale hair, sliding them down to grip the older man's wrists and pin them above his head as he took control of the kiss. Urahara made a sound somewhere between approval and need as he shifted forward, grinding against him. The kiss grew a bit more frantic, tongues dueling for control, small sounds escaping them both.

"I can only assume that you're the _Kisuke_ dad was yelling about this morning." Karin's voice was like a bucket of ice water and the two men fell apart, eyes wide.

Ichigo turned his head slowly and found her leaning on a shelf a few feet away, idly twirling Urahara's discarded hat between her fingers. She was smirking at him; the look of amusement traveling all the way to her eyes and in spite of his embarrassment he was glad to see the emotion there.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked lightly, still facing the older man and willing his erection to go down.

"In this particular spot? Only for the last little bit." She cocked an eyebrow at him, looking much older than her years. "I was over there for the 'fuck that' part of the conversation." She motioned vaguely at the door.

"Don't say fuck," he corrected automatically, finally turning to face her and adjusting his shirt nervously. "You should have said something."

"I did say something," she pointed out, eyeing Urahara curiously. "So you're the traitorous, perverted child molester?"

Urahara made a small choking sound that was part horror and part amusement. "I see Isshin hasn't lost his touch."

She almost smiled at him but it died away quickly as her brows furrowed. "I remember you from the time I spent with Jinta. You're Shinigami, you were there when…" She frowned, her jaw snapping closed against the memories.

"I was there when Rukia was killed protecting you and your sister," he finished for her, feeling her wince like a knife through his own heart. "I'm surprised you remember, you were badly injured."

"I always remember," she gritted out, refusing to give into the tears that stung her nose.

"So do I," he assured her, his voice soft and rough. "So does your brother."

She nodded sharply, dropping her eyes to the ground. Ichigo closed the distance between them, dropping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side. She was getting tall, he noted as her forehead brushed his collarbone.

"I'll make some tea." Urahara murmured, moving off through the doorway and leaving them to follow at their leisure.

**(*)**

"What are you doing here?" Ichigo asked once they were seated at the table, staring into their steaming cups.

"I came here after school looking for you," she admitted with a wry half smile.

"Why?" He wasn't angry, just curious.

"You were so mad this morning that I figured you wouldn't go home. I was worried." She sipped at her tea.

"How'd you know I'd be here?" He could guess at the answer, but he wanted to be sure.

"You and dad were yelling about Kisuke this and Kisuke that. I couldn't think of any other Kisuke besides Ururu's boss so I thought I'd start there." She rolled her eyes a bit as if to say it was obvious, and turned her gaze to the man in question. "Are you really fucking my brother?"

Urahara barely managed to not choke on his tea and Ichigo made a little noise of outrage. "I told you not to say fuck."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure dad told you not to fuck a guy whose old enough to be your…grandfather? Great-grandfather?" She swung back around to look at the blond. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Old enough not to answer that," he replied with a smirk, having finally regained his composure.

"It doesn't matter how old he is." Ichigo glared, his earlier irritation with his father not completely buried yet.

"I didn't say it did." She leveled him with that same amused look from earlier. "I was just pointing out that if you don't have to listen to dad then I don't have to listen to you."

He balked at her and thought he heard a snort of amusement from his right. "So this doesn't bother you at all, you're just interested in saying fuck?" he asked incredulously.

"Which part's supposed to bother me? The part where he's a guy, or is it just the age? I guess the fact that he's one of dad's old Shinigami friends is a bit weird, but whatever." She shrugged at him.

"So you don't think I'm being taken advantage of by some pervert? You don't think I should be with someone my own age? That I should be trying for a _normal_ life?" He still wasn't sure what to make of her reaction.

"Fuck normal. We passed on that a long time ago." She smirked at him, sipping at her tea again. "Besides, what do I know, I'm only 13."

Urahara actually did choke that time, coughing violently into his sleeve. "She certainly is your sister, isn't she?"

Ichigo finally cracked a smile. "I guess she is."

They sat in silence for a minute, just studying each other curiously. Ichigo watched his sister watching Urahara and wondered if he should have told her about this sooner. He hadn't really wanted to bring it up with her, especially when she was so young, but she seemed to be taking it well and it would have saved her a lot of worry at night. He wondered if this was the age confusion that Urahara mentioned sometimes, where going through horrible things together seems to blur that maturity line. The whole thing seemed weird.

"So how long has this been going on?" she asked Urahara, accepting his offer of a refill.

"About a month," he replied easily, sounding for all the world like he wasn't talking to a 13 year old girl about his private life.

"And my dad didn't find out until last night?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"Correct," Urahara confirmed.

"He's not taking it well," she pointed out helpfully, turning her attention back to Ichigo.

"How'd you pick up on that?" he asked, the sarcasm heavy in his tone. "Why are _you_ taking this so well, anyway?" he added as an afterthought.

"Like I said, there's no reason for it to bother me." She shrugged. "You're my brother and I love you no matter what."

He just shook his head in a bemused manner, marveling at how strong their connection had become.

"Besides," she continued, dropping her gaze into her tea, "I kissed Toushiro last year, so I don't really have room to judge."

He blinked for a moment. Urahara blinked for a moment.

"Toushiro as in _Hitsugaya_ Toushiro, captain of the 10th division?" Ichigo shouted.

"Calm down, it didn't mean anything." She looked up at him, the sadness back in her eyes. "I was just so happy to see him alive that it just happened. We use to play soccer together sometimes. It was fun."

He couldn't think of anything to say so he just stared at her like she'd grown another head. He was having enough trouble picturing his 12 year old sister kissing a Shinigami captain without the added trouble of being unable to imagine Toushiro doing anything fun. He just shook his head, realizing this was the most ridiculous he'd felt since returning from the war. It was almost nice.

The screen slid open and Jinta appeared, having been drawn by Ichigo's sudden exclamation. He spotted Karin and the two immediately began chatting like it was an everyday occurrence. Ichigo watched the pair, still reeling a bit from her revelations, but happy to see her interacting so freely. He realized that he was probably the only one she had to talk to that really understood where she was coming from. It was good for her to be around other people who had been there. He suddenly wished he'd brought her here before.

"We should go, Ichi-nii." She had turned back to him at some point.

"I was going to stay here tonight," he admitted, looking over to Urahara who was returning his gaze quietly.

"I know, but dad was pissed enough that he'd just come here again." She sighed.

"I can handle it," he assured her, eyes narrowing.

"I think it would be better if you went home and tried to talk to him," she pushed. "He's just going to be more upset if he has see you together again."

"She's right, Ichigo." Urahara cut in before the younger man could respond. "You're always welcome back if things go too badly."

"Fuck, Kisuke, I don't want to fight with him." Ichigo ran an agitated hand through his hair.

"I know, but you don't want to stop coming here either so it's kind of unavoidable," he pointed out ruefully.

Ichigo sighed in defeat, recognizing the truth of it all. "I suppose it's better not to run," he admitted.

Urahara smiled sadly and Karin moved to stand.

"You're welcome here any time." The former captain assured her.

"Thank you, Kisuke." She bowed slightly, with the same sad smile.

Ichigo leaned over him and kissed him thoroughly, ignoring the gagging sounds coming from Jinta. "Keep Benihime close," he whispered against his lips.

"I intend to." His eyes were cold and serious.

Ichigo nodded and Karin said her goodbyes to Jinta and the suddenly rematerialized Ururu. They left together out of the front door, walking silently side by side. She shivered once, even though it was a warm evening, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders again. He honestly felt better than he had all day, even knowing what awaited him at home. Somehow, just knowing that both Karin and Urahara were willing to support him no matter what made facing his father just a little bit easier.


	3. …We All Fall Down

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach. All characters associated with the series are the property of Tite Kubo, I am simply borrowing them for my own amusement.

**…We All Fall Down**

The closer Ichigo got to home the slower he walked. It wasn't something he was doing consciously; it was just a weariness that seemed to settle over him. If Karin noticed she didn't say anything, she merely shoved her hands into her pockets and matched his pace. The sun was still up, though it was starting to graze the city skyline, stretching the shadows out like fingers across the ground. Ichigo huffed, kicking at a rock in his path and scowling menacingly at nothing in particular.

"Dinner should be ready by the time we get home," Karin noted, looking off into the horizon. "Yuzu said she was going to make something special."

"Was she okay at school?" He brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck.

"She was after awhile." Karin turned to look at him. "She was trying to ignore the fight so she wasn't really listening to what you two were yelling about. I think she's convinced herself it was just a louder version of your same old shit. That's why she's making a big dinner; she thinks it'll put you in a better mood or something."

"You think she'd notice if we slipped some pills in dad's food?" Ichigo smirked. "Then it might actually work."

Karin snorted, "If it were that easy I'd have tried it years ago…on both of you."

Whatever reply he might have made died on his lips because they'd arrived back home and he suddenly didn't find it amusing anymore. He came to a complete stop, staring at the door and wondering if it was too late to change his mind. Karin, in a show of both support and insistence, linked her arm with his and dragged him forward.

"You'll take Yuzu if things get bad?" He pulled her to a stop, hand resting on the knob.

"Yeah." Her eyes hardened slightly.

He took a deep breath and slid his mask of indifference into place before opening the door and stepping through. They found both their father and sister in the kitchen, setting up for dinner.

"I thought I told you to come straight home after school." Isshin snapped; apparently already well on his way to a foul mood.

"Yeah, well I wanted to talk to Ichi-nii for awhile and I didn't think it would be a big deal." Karin stepped between them, glaring at her father.

His eyes slid from his son to his daughter before he seemed to notice the nervous tension radiating from Yuzu. "You come home when you're told," he muttered, turning to take the dishes that she'd been trying to hand him.

Dinner was the most uncomfortable affair that any of them had experienced in a long while. For Yuzu's sake they tried for polite conversation, but all it amounted to was thinly veiled barbs and underlying hostilities. The strain was nearly unbearable and after awhile even Yuzu fell into silence, staring down into her food. Karin decided that this marked the final breakdown in the whole fiasco and quietly excused herself, dragging her miserable sister along behind her.

"Well that was fun," Ichigo muttered to himself, stacking dishes to carry to the sink.

"You see how you're hurting your sisters?" Isshin had propped his elbows on the table, hard eyes following Ichigo as he moved around the room.

"Don't start that shit," Ichigo snapped, "You're the one who spent the whole time glaring at me like some sort of psycho."

Isshin opened his mouth to reply but closed it again, taking a deep breath before starting fresh. "Could you come here and sit down, please?"

Ichigo eyes him suspiciously, but complied. It was worth it just to keep his father somewhat calm so as not to worry the girls.

"I think we got started badly, and now it's just gotten out of hand. We should be able to talk like adults here." Isshin's reasonable words were belied by the fact that the muscles in his jaw were jumping under the tension.

"Okay." Ichigo cocked an eyebrow at him. "Talk."

Isshin gritted his teeth, "Your attitude lately seems a bit self-destructive and I'm really worried about you."

Ichigo snorted. "Gods, could you be anymore cliché?"

"I mean it, Ichigo, your behavior in the past few weeks is completely unacceptable and it has to stop." Isshin seemed to be struggling with his composure, the color rising in his cheeks.

"Fuck, dad, have you been reading parenting books again?" Ichigo sounded morbidly amused, "Do you think I'm hiding drugs in my closet or porn under my bed? Are you going to hold an intervention?"

"I think things can happen that leave a boy open to suggestion." Isshin was staring at him with fever bright eyes. "It can make him more vulnerable; an easier target for people who don't have his best interests at heart."

"You just can't leave it alone, can you?" Ichigo shook his head in disgust. "Why do I always have to be a victim to you?"

"Because you're 17, and you went through something awful and now everything is all mixed up in your head." Isshin had switched to his false understanding voice. "It's easy to see how you could fall into something like this, how you might even think it's how love _should_ be."

"I don't love Kisuke." Ichigo scoffed, eyes cold and hard. "I like to talk to him, I like being around him, I _love_ the way he makes me feel, but I'm not deluding myself that I'm in love with him."

"So what is it then? Is it just sex?" he snapped. "That's not a good enough reason to hurt yourself like this. "

"You, apparently, have never fucked Kisuke." Ichigo sneered, tired of the repetitive arguments and angling for a fight. "Otherwise you wouldn't be calling it _just_ sex."

Isshin flushed with anger. "Don't you talk to me like that; I'm just trying to do what's best for you."

"Looks like I hit a nerve there, dad." Ichigo snarled viciously, leaning forward to plant his elbows on the table. "Don't tell me you actually _have_ fucked him. Hm…no? Maybe you just wanted to. Is that it?"

Isshin surged to his feet, chair falling back with a deafening clatter. "You think this is a joke? This is your life and you're throwing it away on some dysfunctional pervert."

"For fuck sake, what do you think is going on here? Do you think I'm pregnant or something?" Ichigo laughed, bitter and mocking. "How exactly is _this, _of all things, going to ruin my life?"

"How can you sit there and laugh about this." Isshin raged, "You need to get help, get better, have a normal life. All you're doing is digging yourself deeper into trouble and you don't even care."

"You know, someone really smart once said '_Fuck normal - we passed on that a long time ago_', and I'm starting to think she was right." Ichigo felt the bitterness loosen at the thought of Karin. "The whole thing just seems overrated."

Isshin balked at him for a moment, "You can't mean that."

"Of course I mean it, I've been able to see ghosts practically my whole life and I've been a _human_ Shinigami since I was 15. When has normal ever been part of my life?" Ichigo's voice was cold as he slouched back into his chair, daring his father to disagree.

"Well you have a chance now." Isshin pleaded.

"I don't want your chance." Ichigo sneered up at him, "I would never turn my back on being a Shinigami just so I could run around and _play_ normal. That's your style not mine."

"You don't owe them anything." Isshin's voice rose on every word as he warmed to the new topic. "They've done nothing but drag you into their own problems since you first met them."

"I might not owe them anything but I would give them _everything_." Ichigo was on his feet now, too, his voice dangerously low. "I've laughed with them and I've bled with them. Some of my best friends are Shinigami, and I would die for any one of them."

"It seems like all you do is bleed for them." Isshin shouted at him. "If they cared about you they wouldn't ask you to do that."

"There you go with the victim shit again." Ichigo yelled, slamming his fist down in frustration. "No one's done anything to me, not Kisuke and not the Shinigami."

"They dragged you off to a war that you had no business being a part of." Isshin roared. "It had nothing to do with you."

"It had everything to do with me!" Ichigo could feel his reiatsu starting to snap and clamped down hard, not wanting to worry his sister. "I chose to be there. I was there when it started and I believed in what we were doing. We all believed in what we were doing."

"Whole lot of good that _belief_ did," his father snarled, lost in his rage. "You're so fucked up you can't tell right from wrong and half of your friends are dead. Where's the higher cause in that?"

"Don't you _ever_ mention them again." The threads of his control were slipping fast. "You have no right to talk about anyone who fought and died so that you didn't have to, you ungrateful fuck."

Isshin seemed to recognize that he was on dangerous ground because he started to backpedal. "I didn't mean it like that, son, I just want to help you but you won't let me in."

"You can't help me." Ichigo was like ice.

"I realize that, which is why I've signed you up with a therapist." Isshin snapped at him, still angry but starting to think more clearly.

"You did what?" Ichigo hissed. "Have you lost your mind?"

"You need to talk to someone who can help," he stated plainly, like it made some sort of sense to him. "Someone who isn't just using you for sex." He added when he saw Ichigo was going to argue.

"I can't talk to a therapist about this shit. Even if I wanted to, which I don't, no one would believe it." His anger was lost in the face of his incredulity. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Isshin just glared at him. "You're going and that's final."

"Okay, fine, I'll go tell your therapist about all the people I killed in a _spirit _war fought between invisible enemies." Ichigo laughed hysterically, his eyes flashing. "Or how about I tell him about the crazy hollow that lives in my head and lends me his power when things get tough. What do you think he'll prescribe for that?"

Isshin didn't look amused and Ichigo false smile fell away as he stalked towards his father with a look of stony indifference. "How about I just tell him how my dad's a fucking hypocrite because he was fucking my mom when she was only 23 and he's as old as Kisuke. He's worse, in fact, because I bet he was lying to her about being a Shinigami just like he lied to the rest of us for all of those years."

There was a sharp crack as a hand connected with Ichigo's cheek, snapping his neck around. He'd seen it coming but had done nothing to stop it. He relished the sharp sting.

"I…" Isshin looked stunned, frozen in place, hand still raised.

"Good to see we're talking like adults." Ichigo quipped, licking blood from the corner of his mouth as he turned away.

Isshin still hadn't moved, eyes wide with horror. "Ichigo…I didn't mean…"

"Don't worry, dad, you hit like a bitch." Ichigo didn't look back as he stalked out of the room and up the stairs.

Karin was standing in the hall leaning against her door when he passed. He could hear loud music blasting behind her and he hoped it had been enough to drown out the noise.

"You alright?" she asked, eyeing him critically.

"Fuck if I know." He shrugged, leaning his head against his own door, and staring at the ground.

"Yuzu didn't hear anything. I turned up the music and made her teach me how to dance."

"That's good," he sighed.

"You owe me for having to dance," she pointed out dryly and he couldn't help but smirk.

"You better get back before she misses you." He still didn't look up but she didn't take it personally.

"Goodnight, Ichi-nii." She turned the knob on her door and stepped through.

"Night, Karin." he muttered, stepping into the darkness of his own room.

He closed the door but didn't bother to turn on the light. He only made it a couple of steps before his willpower failed him and he slumped against the closet, sliding down until he found the floor. He felt like he was crawling in his own skin, like he was trapped and couldn't get out. He was angry, and bitter, and he just wanted to tear something apart with his bare hands until the rage gave way to exhaustion but he couldn't find the energy to get back up.

There was a little click and the light by his bed came on, revealing someone waiting for the second time that day. Urahara sat cross-legged, leaning against the wall, idly rolling Benihime against his thigh. He'd removed his hat and was regarding Ichigo with mild interest through the pale locks of hair spilling into his face.

"I didn't feel you up here." Ichigo leaned his head back against the closet door.

"Your father isn't the only one who can move without being detected," he pointed out mildly.

"Were you worried about me?" Ichigo cocked an eyebrow.

"Indirectly." The corner of his mouth tugged upward.

"You were worried that I was going to do something dangerous." Ichigo rolled his eyes and turned away, looking off into the corner.

He didn't hear Urahara move but suddenly he was there, kneeling between his feet. Cool fingers closed around his jaw, turning his face further towards the dim light.

"He hit you?" Urahara's voice was deadly soft as his thumb smeared the trickle of blood on his lip.

"It doesn't matter." Ichigo leaned into him. "You've done worse during training."

"I've never hit you out of anger." He frowned, his eyes hard.

"I didn't say you did," Ichigo murmured, tongue flicking out over the pad of his thumb. "I just said it didn't matter."

Urahara's look said that it _did_ matter, but he let it drop. He leaned forward, tongue snaking out to trace the blood back to its source, drawing a hiss from Ichigo as it stung the split. Lips parted and another tongue darted out to meet his, spreading the faint tang of copper as they curled together. Urahara drew back slowly, his thumb returning to apply pressure to the lip, stemming any further flow of blood.

"You're my favorite nurse," Ichigo mumbled against the digit.

Urahara just smirked, holding the pressure for a minute longer before finally releasing him and sitting back.

"Did you hear it all?" Ichigo asked quietly, dropping his eyes.

"Not all of it, but some," he admitted.

"He wants me to see a therapist," Ichigo scoffed.

Urahara raised an eyebrow, he'd missed that part. "A human therapist?"

"Exactly!" Ichigo exclaimed, eyes darting back up to meet the green-grey ones still fixed on him. "It's like he's fucking lost his mind."

"He's worried about you and he doesn't know what to do. That makes people act strangely sometimes." Urahara explained, pale brows drawn together.

"You always defend him," Ichigo pointed out softly, without any real heat.

"Not always." The gaze fell to his lip briefly before returning to his eyes. "But I understand his position on many things. We were friends for a very long time."

Ichigo's shoulders slumped forward as he sighed, running a hand through his hair. He placed his fingers against Urahara's chest and pushed gently in a wordless request. The older man eyed him warily but complied, sliding backwards. Ichigo followed, rolling onto his knees and pushing them both down onto the ground. He hovered over Urahara while the other man arranged himself, and then dropped into a graceless sprawl across him, head tucked into the crook of his neck.

Urahara relaxed marginally when he Ichigo made no further move, content to just lay there. He wrapped his arms around the smaller frame, resting his cheek against the soft mess of hair. One of Ichigo's hands was against his neck, stroking softly while his breath stirred the hair behind his ear.

"I'm tired of fighting," he murmured, lips moving against pale skin.

"I know," Urahara sighed, running a hand up his back.

"Why can't everyone just leave me alone?" There seemed to be a bit of tongue mixed in with the words on his neck that time.

Urahara's eyes shifted, regarding the top of the orange head suspiciously. "Well it might help if you stopped antagonizing people, hollows, and evil super powers every chance you got."

"I suppose," Ichigo conceded and there was definitely a swirl of tongue behind his ear.

"Ichigo," Urahara warned, pulling back a little to look at him.

"Why is it that you can calm me down, no matter how mad I get?" Ichigo murmured, turning his head to trail open mouthed kisses along his scruffy jaw.

"I'm a man of many talents," he smirked, letting his head fall back as the lips slid down his throat.

"I already knew that." Ichigo's voice had gone soft and husky, a sound that went straight to Urahara's cock.

"That's enough, Ichigo," he panted, remembering where they were and why this was the worst idea possible.

The younger man raised half-lidded eyes to meet his, gnawing gently on his soft lower lip. "What's wrong, Kisuke?" his voice was like sex, hot and thick, and full of a hundred dark promises.

Urahara groaned, shutting his eyes against the shiver that ran up his spine. "You know what's wrong; don't try that tone on me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He smirked, leaning forward to run his tongue over Urahara's bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth and tugging it gently with his teeth.

The blond gasped as Ichigo kissed him thoroughly, lips moving in a slow caress as a tongue pressed forward to coax a response from his own. His arms slid back around the lean body as Ichigo settled further on top of him, pouring himself into the kiss. A hand slipped under his neck while the other traced his ear and he felt his mind shutting down, drunk on the taste and feel of the young, eager body. He pushed forward, following the tongue back into that willing mouth, moaning as Ichigo greedily sucked him in deeper. Hips pressed down, grinding into him and he broke away gasping.

"We can't do this, not here," he panted, stalling Ichigo with two fingers when he tried to return to the kiss. "You're father is still downstairs and he already has far too many reasons to kill me."

Ichigo smirked against his fingers, opening his mouth to draw them inside. Urahara had to grit his teeth to keep from moaning out loud as he rolled them with him tongue, sucking hard in a way that seemed to set him on fire. Ichigo released the fingers, sliding forward until his mouth brushed the lobe of Urahara's ear.

"I want to suck you off right here in the middle of my floor, Kisuke." His breath was hot as he nipped the soft skin.

Urahara gasped, his fingers closing tight on the younger man's hips. "Gods, Ichigo, that's such a bad idea."

"But you like it," he accused, continuing his slow torture on the sensitive flesh. "You like the thought of burying your fingers in my hair while I swallow you deep in the middle of my bedroom. You're _aching_ to watch my mouth on you, to feel me moaning around your cock because you taste so fucking good. You want to have to bite your lip so hard it bleeds to keep from screaming when you come down my throat."

Urahara whimpered, his hips thrusting involuntarily into the body pressed against him. "Ichigo, please…"

"Please what, Kisuke." He thrust down to meet him. "Do you want me to stop or do you want me to wrap my lips around you and torture you until your eyes roll back in your head and you forget your own name? " He was panting hard. "I want to feel you writhing and moaning under me; I want to feel you shuddering in my mouth."

Slender fingers fisted in his hair, pulling him roughly to meet glittering, pale eyes. "You're going to hell someday," Urahara growled before shoving him lower.

Ichigo had his shirt untied and open before he'd even settled in, fingers rolling a nipple as he mouthed his erection through his pants. Urahara arched against him, straining for more contact than the cloth would allow. Ichigo's other hand was working the tie, pulling it free and Urahara lifted his hips to allow the pants to slide away.

"Take off your shirt, I want to see you," he commanded softly, groaning as hot fingers closed over his arousal.

Ichigo yanked it roughly over his head, throwing it over his shoulder before bending down to lick him from base to tip. One hand settled in the orange hair as the pink tongue darted out to swirl around the weeping head. Urahara hissed and Ichigo chuckled darkly before opening his mouth to take him in. His hips surged up sharply and fingers dug in to keep them still. Ichigo hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard, tongue stroking a steady rhythm against the throbbing vein.

Urahara threw his head back, biting his lip as a moan hitched in his throat. Ichigo wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, matching the rhythm of his lips and tongue. Urahara's hips jerked harder and Ichigo let him slide further in, moaning around him as he increased his pace. Both hands were in his hair now and he slipped his fingers lower to ghost across his scrotum, relaxing his throat to take him in deep.

"Oh, fuck!" Urahara groaned brokenly, drawing a knee up slightly as he thrust helplessly forward. Ichigo moaned again, matching the pace as he fucked his mouth, rolling his balls gently and swallowing around the hot length pushing into his throat.

He slid his free hand down, unbuttoning his own pants and pulling himself free. His fingers closed around his own erection and he felt a shudder pass through him and up through Urahara. He raised his head a little and found the older man watching him with dark, hungry eyes. He pulled back, sucking hard, tongue dancing against the velvet flesh and watched the pale eyelashes flutter. He was pumping himself hard now, wringing moans from his own throat that vibrated through Urahara drawing out matching little cries.

He could tell the other man was close because the hands in his hair were getting painful as Urahara strained against him. He dipped back down, swallowing him fully, mouth and throat working hard and fast. Urahara made a strangled groaning noise as he fell back against the ground, biting down hard on his already bruised lip. Ichigo's rhythm was starting to falter as he pumped himself, his own release building with every stroke.

"I-Ichigo," Urahara gasped roughly, and it was all the warning he got as the blond arched upward, cock pulsing in his mouth, shooting jets of come down his throat. He swallowed convulsively, milking him as he tried not to choke, feeling a dribble roll off his lip and down his chin.

Before the tremors had even subsided the hand in his hair yanked him roughly into a crushing kiss. A tongue swept into his mouth, possessing him as fingers slipped into his pants to cover his own. Urahara stroked him hard, drinking his cries like they were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. He shuddered violently and Urahara twisted his hand, sending pleasure spiking through him. He cried out, the sound lost in the kiss, as he came hard, pulsing over their joined hands and onto the pale stomach beneath him.

Urahara broke the kiss slowly, releasing his hair and falling back onto the floor. Weak and shaking, Ichigo fell beside him; still half dressed, their legs tangling together. They lay curled against each other, panting and exhausted, for several long moments before Urahara finally found his voice.

"You are such a bad influence." He pressed a kiss against a sweat damp temple.

"I know," Ichigo chuckled weakly, "I keep telling my dad that I'm the one molesting you, but he won't listen."

"Ugh, you just had to bring him up…Isshin would kill me in so many horrible ways if he could see me right now," he grumbled half heartedly, sitting up a little and eyeing the mess on his stomach with mild distaste.

Ichigo winced, his face falling a bit. "Sorry, I just-" but Urahara cut him off with a soft kiss.

"I was teasing…sort of." He traced a thumb over the younger man's sharp cheekbone. "Don't apologize."

Urahara found Ichigo's discarded shirt and used it to clean himself up before rearranging his clothes. Sliding back over to where the younger man lay he brushed the hair back from his face, leaning over him until their noses were almost touching.

"Are you still angry?" he asked softly, staring down into the half closed, chocolate eyes.

"I don't know, maybe a little," Ichigo admitted, rubbing his nose against Urahara's. "Are you still feeling guilty?"

"All the time," he confessed, his voice soft against Ichigo's lips.

"We're really fucked up, do you know that?" The younger man smirked, planting a chaste kiss on the mouth hovering over his own.

Urahara stifled a sound of amusement as he straightened up. "Trust me; I am aware of that fact."

"Will you stay?" Ichigo asked softly, watching him roll to his feet.

"You know I can't." Urahara shook his head in mild exasperation.

"Just for awhile?" Ichigo sat up, stripping his pants away and readjusting his boxers.

Urahara stared hard at him for a moment, weighing his options against their potential consequences. He extended his consciousness and found that even Isshin had retreated to the confines of his room by now. He sighed heavily and Ichigo must have taken it for consent because he stood, steering them both towards the bed.

There wasn't a whole lot of extra room but it didn't matter because Ichigo curled around him like a second skin. Urahara ran a hand up Ichigo's naked back, following some pattern that only he understood as the remaining tension began to slip out of the tight muscles. After awhile Ichigo started to talk, sharing the details of the fight with Isshin and his own feelings about it. They lay there for a long time, deep in conversation, punctuated by soft caresses. Ichigo wasn't looking for answers, he just wanted to vent and Urahara knew all the right things to say. It wasn't perfect, and it certainly didn't feel like therapy, but it was what Ichigo wanted. It was that ever present sense of good enough.


	4. Remembrance

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach. All characters associated with the series are the property of Tite Kubo, I am simply borrowing them for my own amusement.

**Remembrance**

Ichigo had no interest in either arguing with his father or the preposterous idea of going to therapy. He'd successfully managed to get out of the house without incident this morning, due mostly to the fact that he'd jumped out his bedroom window a good hour before he really had to leave.

He made his way to the school, arriving long before any of the other students, and sat alone in his empty classroom, lazily flipping through a couple of books as he finished the last of his homework. He might not want to be there, but that didn't mean he was going to slack. He didn't like to do things half-assed.

About fifteen minutes before the start of class the other students began to file in. Most just ignored him, but a few stopped to chat. He hauled out his polite conversation, noticing how awkward it felt on his tongue, and wondered if any of them even noticed the lie. It was a relief when the teacher arrived, because he could tune her out easily and she knew better than to call on him.

The day flew by in a haze of color, like so many of the days that had come before it. He kept to himself, taking notes when he could be bothered to listen, handing in assignments when they were requested. The outside world drifted by and Ichigo couldn't help but feel more like an observer than a participant. It was okay, he didn't mind, he almost enjoyed it that way.

About ten minutes before the final bell rang, just when he was beginning to think that the day was going remarkably well, everything started to fall apart. Ichigo didn't look up when the door opened; it wasn't an unusual occurrence after all. He did look up, however, when the aid that had just entered called his name softly. Apparently he had a visitor, one who was deemed important enough to be taken out of class for. He growled as he followed her.

She led him to a rarely used conference room and slid back the door to reveal Isshin sitting at a long table, accompanied by a smaller, somewhat mousier man. Ichigo couldn't say that he was surprised, once his father got something into his head he generally refused to let it go. A little thing like absolute refusal and a grand escape attempt wouldn't have thrown him off. Ichigo blinked at them twice and turned to leave, only to be drawn up short by a sharp word from Isshin. He sighed; he really didn't want to make a scene here.

"We already talked about this," he said patiently, his back still to them. "I thought I made myself clear."

"I think I was pretty clear as well, son," Isshin said sharply. "Now come here and meet Shimizu-ishi."

Ichigo's shoulders tensed but he turned, nodding sharply to the other man.

"I'm Shimizu Jin." He stood, smiling politely at the younger man. "I'm a licensed psychiatrist."

"Kurosaki Ichigo." He scowled, casting a glare in his father's direction. "Apparently I'm the designated fuck-up for today."

"Ichigo!" Isshin snapped in warning, but Shimizu cut him off.

"Let him speak his mind, Isshin," he said pleasantly, seating himself once again at the table. "That's why we're here after all."

Isshin kept his mouth closed with visible effort and Ichigo smirked at him.

"This isn't an official appointment." The doctor began, looking at Ichigo, "Your father just wanted us to have a chance to get to know one another. Would that be alright with you?"

"Why are you making it sound like I have some choice here?" Ichigo wondered aloud, his voice slow and bored.

"No one's going to make you do anything you don't want to," the doctor assured him, apparently not having seen the look on Isshin's face.

Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, stalking over to a chair and dropping heavily into it. Isshin joined them at the table, folding his hands together and looking at his son.

"You know I'm worried about you Ichigo. I think that this is in your best interests." Isshin was using that 'good father' tone again and Ichigo wondered idly if punching him in the face could be considered _speaking his mind_.

"What the fuck do you know about my _best interests_?" Ichigo laughed bitterly. "You should take a look at yourself; find your own damn interests."

"Let's just calm down." Doctor cut in smoothly before Isshin could reply. "I understand that there's a lot of hostility between the two of you right now, but yelling isn't going to solve anything."

"How about hitting?" Ichigo asked coolly, watching Isshin flinch out of the corner of his eye.

"Violence solves even less than yelling," Shimizu assured him, oblivious to the exchange.

The doctor pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket and flipped through a couple of pages. "I understand from your father that you've recently lost a friend to an accident. I hear that the two of you were close, that she'd actually been living with your family for awhile." He glanced back up at Ichigo as if to confirm.

The younger man met his gaze blankly for a moment before turning to fix his father with an incredulous look. Isshin, to his credit, was staring uncomfortably into the table top.

"Seems someone's been telling stories." Ichigo bit out, still staring coldly at the bowed head.

"You shouldn't blame your father, Kurosaki-san, he only told me out of concern for your wellbeing." The therapist said soothingly, attempting to bring his attention back around.

It took a moment for Ichigo to turn. "So, I've lost a friend in an _accident _and now I need help, is that it?"

The therapist regarded him placidly, apparently immune to his hostility. "It seems that, since the accident, you have been engaging in certain, shall we call them, _self-destructive_ behaviors."

"Such as?" Ichigo's voice had lost all inflection and he didn't have to turn this time to see his father twitch.

Shimizu flipped a couple more pages into his notes, "Such as fighting, disappearing at odd hours, and hostility towards your family."

"Don't forget my current _unhealthy_ relationship with an _old_ friend of my fathers." Ichigo pointed out, noting that the doctor didn't appear at all surprised by this piece of information. He shot Isshin another glare.

"Is that something that you would like to talk about?" the therapist asked calmly.

"I'm over the age of consent and it's not your business. What's there to talk about?" Ichigo was the picture of cool indifference.

"Your father believes that you may have fallen victim to someone preying on your pain. How do you feel about that?" he asked, studying Ichigo intently.

Ichigo didn't as much as blink. "I think that my father is being awfully hypocritical, considering he was much older than my mother."

The doctor frowned slightly, his first real expression. "I've known you father since medical school, and I knew you're mother as well, before she passed away. At their age, two years was hardly a large difference."

"Oh right, I forgot my dad was only two years older than her." Ichigo turned to spear his father. "I guess all my memories of her are from when I was young and he seems so much _older_ now. My mistake."

"It's quite understandable," the doctor assured him. "Now, your own behavior, on the other hand, has some very different characteristics."

"I bet it does." He nodded, holding his father's gaze, before calmly turning back to Shimizu. "Could you explain how someone falls into one of these _unhealthy_ relationships for me? I guess maybe I just don't understand it."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, as though he felt he were being mocked, but he complied, launching into a brief psychological lesson on trauma and its ability to leave a person open to suggestion. Ichigo nodded politely, reaching into his pocket as he pushed his chair back. Finding what he was looking for he returned his hand to the table, rolling the little green ball across its surface with one finger.

He glanced at his father, saw him watching, saw the flash of recognition in his eyes. With a small smirk he popped the thing between his lips before his father could say a word. He felt a tug in the back of his chest as he broke free from his body, stepping quickly aside to avoid hitting the table.

"Are you alright?" the doctor asked mildly, having seen the shudder that passed through his frame.

"Just tell him you sneezed," Ichigo prompted.

"Just stifled a sneeze," Kon said easily, "Please go on."

Isshin was glaring daggers at him as he paced alongside the table. He settled behind the therapist, who was still rattling on, blissfully unaware of the new addition to his audience. He cocked an eyebrow at Kon over the man's slightly balding head.

"This is Shimizu-ishi, he's a licensed psychiatrist," he informed the mod soul critically. "My father seems to think he's going to help me work through all of the horrors I've seen, because he obviously has so much _experience_ with this sort of thing."

Kon looked distantly amused, but he could feel Isshin's reiatsu starting to flicker.

"You see," he went on, pacing back along the opposite side of the table. "He's an old human friend of my apparently human father. I'm sure that will help to provide a completely accurate impression of me, what with dad telling him all sorts of fantastic stories."

He pinned Isshin with a stare across the table, silently telling his father exactly how angry he was. He came to a halt behind Kon, bending down to wrap an arm around the familiar chest. He rested his chin on the mod soul's shoulder, looking across the table at the doctor who was winding to a close.

"He wants to talk to us about how Rukia died in that tragic _accident_" he whispered, loud enough for his father to hear.

Kon stiffened, but didn't break character. "I guess I don't see how that applies to me." He frowned at the doctor. "Which one of those categories do you think I fall under?"

The therapist sat forward, warming to the topic now that Ichigo seemed to be showing interest. He began to use his hands a bit while he talked. Ichigo eyed him indifferently for a second before turning his attention back to Kon.

"You always liked to talk about yourself more than I did," he murmured. "To warn you, though, I think he wants to talk about Kisuke, and I know guys aren't really your thing. Maybe you could tell him about all the girls you chase after, that might fuck with his brain a bit."

Kon made a very faint sound of amusement and reached up to brush a hand over the arm still holding him.

"I don't suppose you want to open a window for me." Ichigo straightened, pulling away.

Kon started to move but Isshin beat him to it. He made a brief excuse about needing to use the restroom and headed for the door. Ichigo shrugged and followed, casting one last look over his shoulder at his replacement before the door slid closed behind him.

Isshin looked around quickly for any wandering eyes before grabbing him and hauling him down the hall to an empty class room. He rounded on his son as soon as the door was shut.

"What the hell do you think you were doing in there?" he fumed.

"I told you, I'm not talking to your damn therapist," Ichigo snapped back at him.

"You can't just jump out of your body and run away whenever you feel like it." Isshin was turning red again.

"Sure I can," Ichigo pointed out coldly, "And I think that fact that he didn't know I'd even done it should indicate to you that he's not fucking qualified to deal with my sort of problems."

Isshin hesitated. "It might not have been the best idea, but at least I'm trying."

"Which part do you think wasn't a good idea?" Ichigo snarled roughly. "Because I especially liked the part where you said Rukia died in some fucking accident, instead of fighting to protect your children. Way to honor the sacrifice, dad."

"Look," Isshin snapped, "I might have been wrong about him being able to help you, but I'm not wrong about you needing help."

"You're right; I think I'm going to go find Kisuke," Ichigo sneered. He took a step forward but Isshin grabbed him by the arm and shoved him against the wall.

"You gonna hit me again?" Ichigo taunted. "I hear the first time's the hardest, it's easy after that."

Isshin drew a breath, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I don't know what you're playing at, but it stops now."

"You said that you want me to talk to someone, and I'm talking to Kisuke. You should be happy," Ichigo spat.

"I understand why a human might not be able to help you, but there are other Shinigami you could talk to. Hell, I'm a Shinigami, you could talk to me. I'd understand," he shouted, flecks of spittle peppering Ichigo's cheek.

"Talk to you?" Ichigo's lip curled back. "What the fuck would you know about any of it?"

He pushed Isshin back, sending him staggering into a desk. "You were still so bitter with Soul Society that you didn't want anything to do with any of it. You just sat here complaining about how stupid the Shinigami were while we were busy fighting, trying to keep Aizen from killing you all. Fucking Ishida was even there, fighting alongside of us, and he's a Quincy, sworn enemy of the Shinigami."

"I did what I could." Isshin glared at him.

"No, you did what you wanted," Ichigo shouted. "You sat in your office and played human with all of your little friends. You told yourself that there was nothing you could do so that you didn't have to feel guilty about all the people who were dying out there. You just put your fucking head down and said it wasn't your fucking problem."

"Would you rather I'd just left your sisters to fend for themselves while I ran off on the orders of people I didn't even believe in?" Isshin raged.

"I would rather you didn't preach to me in all of your fucking, self-righteous glory about shit you don't understand." Ichigo felt his control slipping. "If you want to play human that's fine, but don't come to me and pretend like you understand me. You want to know _why_ I talk to Kisuke and not you. It's because he spent the whole fucking war about three feet behind me, killing things that were trying to kill me, while you looked the other way."

"You don't know anything about what I did during the war," Isshin snarled, taking a step towards him.

"You're right," Ichigo sneered, "Because you weren't there."

"There's no point in marching needlessly to your death." Isshin spat at him, and Ichigo felt something cold pierce his heart.

"No, but sometimes you have to sacrifice yourself for the greater good." His voice had gone soft, his eyes unfocused against some lost memory.

"There's that greater good of yours again. It's so easy to say and so hard to prove." Isshin was lost in his anger, intent on driving his point home. "How can you really know if any of those deaths meant a damn thing? The Shinigami have a long history of sending people to die needlessly for overinflated causes. Most likely it was just a useless waste of life."

One second Isshin was crowing his triumph, red faced and furious, and the next he was speechless, the point of Ichigo's zanpakutou hovering an inch from his face. He belatedly registered the crush of Ichigo's reiatsu in the room as he met the terrifying silver gaze.

"I told you never to mention them again." His voice was deadly calm. "You might not respect Soul Society, but you _will_ respect the people who went to their deaths to protect your shitty little life."

He withdrew the blade, pivoting sharply and stalking towards the door.

"Ichigo." Isshin called after him, though it was hard to tell if he was angry or apologetic.

"Your guilt isn't my problem." Ichigo paused in the doorway. "Stop trying to take it out on me."

He was gone in the blink of an eye, having shifted to shunpo in order to escape. Isshin remained rooted to the spot for a long moment, deep in thought. The things that Ichigo had said about him stung, but he knew that the boy just didn't understand. He hadn't spent enough time with the Shinigami to know their true nature. He carefully pushed aside all thoughts of the guilt he might have harbored for standing back while his son fought for his life. He wasn't guilty, he was just looking at the bigger picture.

He winced as he remembered that his son had raised a sword to him for the second time, the first being in defense of Urahara. His eyes narrowed as he thought of his friend. Whenever he broke the situation down it always came down to Urahara. He was the one who had trained Ichigo as a Shinigami, even though Isshin hadn't complained at the time. He was the one who kept sending his son into Soul Society. He'd sent him into Hueco Mundo, even accompanied him into the war, and now he was fucking him, taking advantage of his pain.

Isshin felt his anger start to rise again as he delved into the familiar thoughts. It was far easier to blame the situation on what seemed to be an obvious problem than it was to examine himself. By the time he left the room, he'd convinced himself that Ichigo had just been spouting more of his grief laden nonsense.

**(*)**

Dusk was just starting to fade into earnest darkness when Urahara arrived back at his shop. Upon stepping through the door he was immediately greeted by a rather worried Ururu, though he didn't need her to tell him what was wrong, he could already feel the reiatsu. He wordlessly handed his purchases to his young employee and headed for the back of the shop. He bypassed the entrance to the basement, sliding back the door to what was often their impromptu medical chamber.

The room was dark, but the light from the doorway was enough to reveal the lone figure sitting against the wall, head dipping low over drawn up knees. Zangetsu lay to one side, casually discarded. He left the door open but didn't bother to turn on the light as he moved forward. Ichigo didn't acknowledge his approach, staring into the cup he was spinning slowly in his hand. There was an open jug of sake between his feet. Urahara sighed, moving the jug as he sat cross-legged in front of the younger man.

"You know, it's rather crass to drink sake from a water cup," he admonished lightly, slipping off his hat and placing it next to Benihime on the floor.

"You here to correct my manners, Kisuke?" Ichigo's eyes flickered up to meet him.

"It's not like you to drink," he pointed out, "Did something happen?"

"Fucking memories." Ichigo swirled the cup again. "Just worse than usual."

"Are you drunk?" Urahara inquired gently.

Ichigo smirked faintly, raising the cup to his lips. "No."

"Do you want to talk about it?" He reached forward, taking the cup without resistance and raising it to his own lips.

"I don't know," Ichigo replied truthfully, brows furrowed.

Urahara didn't press the matter, knowing that to do so would only push Ichigo deeper into himself. He took another sip, grimacing slightly. "You know, this is really better warm."

"Is it?" Ichigo asked softly, a strange gleam in his eye.

He slipped forward with a grace that suggested he hadn't been lying when he said he wasn't drunk, sliding into Urahara's lap and wrapping his legs around him. A hand came to rest against his lower back, settling him more comfortably, as he reached out to retrieve the cup.

He drank slowly, eyes glittering in the semi-darkness, as he watching Urahara over the rim. He lowered the cup, rolling the sake over his tongue before leaning in to capture the other man's mouth. Urahara's lips opened easily, accepting the gentle caress and the wine that accompanied it. A tongue swept into his mouth, a brief, flickering presence before Ichigo pulled away, licking his lower lip to catch a fallen drop.

"Better?" he inquired, studying him intently.

"Much," Urahara assured him, feeling slightly dazed. "You have some decidedly interesting talents."

Ichigo smiled faintly. "A kiss is like a work of art."

As if to punctuate this fact he took another sip and repeated the process, delving deeper into Urahara's mouth, consuming him. Hands slipped up to frame his face as the older man pressed into him, a soft moan rising in the back of his throat. Ichigo broke away, breath stirring against the mouth an inch from his own.

"It takes patience..." The swipe of a tongue.

"…skill…" Teeth tugged softly at the fullness of a lip.

"…and passion." Ichigo closed the distance again, and Urahara met him half way.

The kiss was slow and demanding, like a fire spreading through his blood. Ichigo was watching him through those half lidded eyes and he found that he couldn't look away. When they pulled apart a moment later he reached out to run a finger over the younger man's lips, still feeling a little breathless.

"Did you just make that up?" he murmured, dragging his eyes away from that kiss swollen mouth.

"No," Ichigo admitted, leaning down to rest his forehead on the other man's shoulder. "Juushirou said that to me once, almost exactly how I just said it to you, except without the sake. He didn't like to drink."

He turned his head, lips brushing against the pale column of Urahara's throat before continuing, "He said that a true artist could choose to create or destroy with the power of a single kiss."

Urahara rubbed his jaw against Ichigo cheek. "Just to clarify, when you say Juushirou you _do_ mean Ukitake Juushirou, a man old enough to make even myself feel like a child, correct?"

"About your height, brown eyes, long, white hair." Ichigo confirmed, lips tickling across his skin. "Really soft hair."

"When was this?" Urahara asked gently, wrapping his arms around the smaller frame.

"The night he volunteered to lead the initial assault." Ichigo's voice was distant. "We all knew that whoever went wasn't coming back, but someone had to do it. He said he wanted to and no one could change his mind."

"He was a man of honor. He would never have asked anyone to go into a fight that he wasn't willing to face himself," Urahara said sadly.

"I went to see him, because he'd always been a friend to me, from my first time in Soul Society." Ichigo raised his head to take another sip of sake. "He was sitting alone on a hill overlooking Seireitei, just staring up into the sky."

He settled deeper into Urahara's lap. "We talked for awhile, just nonsense and history, nothing about the war. He told me that I reminded him of his former vice-captain, Kaien. Did you know him?"

"I knew him before he was a Shinigami," Urahara murmured into his hair.

"He said that he felt like he'd failed Kaien," Ichigo whispered, "He said this was a sort of penance for not having been able to save him. He looked so sad and tired, like he was drowning under the weight of all the shit that kept piling up. It just seemed so wrong for someone like him to die with all that guilt. I don't even remember what I was thinking, but I just leaned over and kissed him. I just wanted…"

He trailed off as though he didn't know how to continue. Urahara remained silent, waiting for him to collect his thoughts, and after a moment he went on.

"I think I shocked him, because he didn't do anything for a couple of seconds and then he pushed me away. He put his hand up to his lips." Urahara felt Ichigo unconsciously mimic the gesture. "He looked so confused, but he didn't move away or get mad. He apologized to me, like he'd done something wrong, and said I should go back to my room. I didn't understand what he was sorry for. I could see his hand shaking against his lips and I reached out to grab it."

Ichigo shivered slightly and Urahara held him tighter, wishing there was something he could say to make this easier.

"I couldn't just leave him there, not like that. It was the last night before he was going to walk to his death and he was all alone. No one should have to be alone like that, it isn't right." Ichigo's breath hitched slightly. "I didn't know what else to do so I kissed him again. It was sloppy; because I was afraid and confused; and because I didn't really know what I was doing. I'd never kissed anyone seriously before but I didn't have anything else to give."

He fell silent again, lost in thought, and Urahara ran a hand up his back and into his hair. Ichigo sighed brokenly, nuzzling into the older man's neck.

"He pushed me away again after a minute or so and looked at me. He cupped the side of my face and just shook his head, smiling a bit. He said that if this was his last night to live, then he supposed he should do something productive with it. He pushed me back into the grass and said if there was one thing he still had the time to do, it was teach me how to kiss properly."

Ichigo pulled back, seeking out Urahara's pale gaze. "We stayed out there until dawn, just kissing and talking. He never took it any further even though I probably would have let him. When the sun came up he seemed sad, but in a different, softer way. He kissed me one more time, and thanked me for staying with him. Then he just walked away, looking calm and collected like it was any other day." He paused. "That was the last time I saw him before they brought his body back."

"I remember that night," Urahara mused, his thumb resting against the fluttering pulse at Ichigo's throat. "I was looking for you but couldn't find you. Too much reiatsu in too small an area."

"I'm glad you didn't find me," Ichigo admitted softly, his eyes falling away.

"So am I." Urahara ran his nose up the soft skin of his cheek. "Your time was better spent elsewhere."

They both fell silent again, but Urahara waited, knowing that those memories would have inevitably led to others. Ichigo housed a thousand demons from the past, and the older man knew them well. He had been there, after all; they were his demons, too.

"That was a bad fight." Ichigo's eyes fell shut against the memories.

"It was," Urahara confirmed, gently brushing the hair from his face.

"You were there when Zaraki Kenpachi fell." His voice was barely audible now.

Urahara nodded, jaw clenched. It hurt to think about it, but Ichigo had never talked about that day, and if pain was the price then Urahara was willing to pay it. "I was trapped a little ways behind you when I heard you shout."

"They got swarmed, there were just too many. I could hear him laughing right up till the end, and then that sword went through him and he dropped." Ichigo ground his teeth together. "I saw him and he saw me, and then he just fell away."

"He died exactly how he would have wanted. He took out almost an entire unit before he went." Urahara assured him, his voice rough. "There was nothing you could have done. Not about any of it."

"I tried to get to her, Kisuke. I tried but I fucking couldn't," Ichigo choked, his voice broken. "I was screaming at her to run but she wouldn't. I know she heard because she looked at me, she smiled at me, right before she stepped over his body and blasted an Arrancar away in one swing. She wouldn't leave him, not even when she knew it was over. She just kept fighting, standing over him, hacking away at them and laughing, just like he had done. I just kept screaming and pushing towards her but there were so many of them. I couldn't get to her."

"He was the closest thing she ever had to a father," Urahara whispered through the stinging in his throat. "She would have hated you for taking her away, even though she knew it meant her life."

"Maybe." Ichigo shifted uncomfortably. "I got there at the same time as Yumichika and Ikkaku. She was already dead, all cut up and bleeding everywhere, but she was still smiling a little. She died smiling, laying across Zaraki. It looked so right, even though it was all just so wrong. I thought that he was dead, too, but he wasn't. He was still breathing, just barely. He was holding her against him, cradling her head to his chest with the last bit of strength he had."

Urahara drew in a shaky breath, his arms tightening fractionally. He hadn't known that.

"He told me to take her, to make sure that no one touched her. He said that he owed her that. He said that he was sorry that he wasn't going to be there to see the end. He apologized to me, like he was letting me down. I hated it when they would apologize." Ichigo's voice was thick and hard. "I didn't know what to say, I never did. I told him that he'd kicked their asses good and he seemed happy with that. I took Yachiru, promised that I would take care of her. I promised him. He was fading fast, but the other two grabbed him anyway; no one got left behind, not if there's any other way. He died before we broke back through the lines. He was smiling too." His voice faltered, but he pushed on.

"We buried them together, after the fight was over. Put them under a tree, just inside the gates of Seireitei, figured they would have wanted to be out in the open. I never let anyone touch her, just like I promised. I put her in the ground myself."

He faded off again, there was nothing more to say and he couldn't have found the words even if there was. Urahara leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, tracing soothing patterns over his back.

"They died doing something that they believed in. We should all be so lucky," he whispered against Ichigo's lips. "I was honored to fight alongside every one of them, just like I was to fight with you."

"She shouldn't have died." The grief in Ichigo's voice was a knife through his heart.

"None of them should have died," Urahara agreed.

"She was just a kid." His voice was broken.

"So were you," Urahara pointed out softly. "But no one could have kept you out of that fight. She was a vice-captain. She wouldn't have had it any other way."

"It's not fair," he whispered, looking tired and worn.

"No," Urahara murmured, "It never is."

Sometime during the conversation Ichigo must have set the sake aside because he retrieved it from the floor and tossed back a large swallow. He offered the cup to Urahara, who took it and did the same. The silence stretched between them but they didn't mind. Ichigo once again leaned forward to rest against Urahara's shoulder and the older man just held him there, nuzzling him gently.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked finally.

"I'll never be okay," Ichigo muttered half-heartedly.

"Are you going to be as okay as you were yesterday?" Urahara corrected softly.

"I think so." Ichigo pressed a kiss into the side of his neck. "You're as good a therapist as you are a nurse. Is there anything you _can't_ do?"

Urahara smiled wanly at the attempted humor. "I can't seem to not touch you," he admitted quietly.

"To be fair, I don't think you try very hard." Ichigo chuckled weakly, grateful for the lighter mood.

"It's possible," Urahara concurred, his breath hitching slightly as Ichigo's tongue snaked into the hollow behind his ear.

"Kisuke," he murmured softly, lips following the line of his jaw. "Will you make me feel good again?"

"You know it doesn't work like that," Urahara tried to reason, even as he arched into the touch. "Besides, I think you're a little drunk."

"Kisuke." Ichigo pulled back, cupping the side of his face and running his thumb over his lips. "Not today. I'll fucking let you argue with me twice as much next time, okay?"

Urahara looked slightly exasperated, but it didn't stop him from opening his mouth to bite the end of Ichigo's thumb.

"Just make me feel it, okay?" His voice was rough and his eyes pleaded for understanding.

All thoughts of argument died on Urahara's lips as he realized that, fucked up as it was, he needed this as much as Ichigo did. They were both using the other to stay afloat and there was no turning back, at least not from here.

He brushed Ichigo's arm aside and took his face between his hands, kissing him gently. The tension seemed to fall away from the younger man as he recognized the surrender. Tongues dueled slowly with the lingering taste of sake. Urahara's fingers worked the knot in Ichigo's sash with practiced ease, pulling it away, rising up to push the cloth back over his shoulders. Ichigo shrugged out of the clothes, bringing his hands up to thread through Urahara's hair, pulling him closer.

The former captain pushed to his knees, spilling Ichigo onto the floor and crawling over him. Ichigo's fumbled with the ties on his clothing, the combined effect of the sake and overworked emotion making the task more difficult. Urahara stilled him with one hand, peeling away the layers himself, before settling into the body beneath him. He dipped his head, latching onto the delicate curve of Ichigo's collarbone, drawing a hiss from the younger man as he found the sensitive skin on the side of his neck.

His movements were unhurried, deliberate, geared more towards the comfort of pleasure than the immediate need for release. Ichigo's hands found his hips and held him still as he ground into him slowly, groaning at the contact. Urahara bit back a gasp as teeth sank into his ear lobe, tugging gently before releasing and traveling lower.

Ichigo shifted, rolling sideways, pinning Urahara to the floor. Lips pressed into his throat as his head fell back. Ichigo's fingers trailed down his chest, rolling an already hard nipple, twisting gently. A half moan broke free and he bit his lip against the assault, dragging him back up for another kiss.

Long, pale fingers slipped into the gap at the side of Ichigo's hakama, brushing over his erection through his fundoshi, sending a jolt through his body. He tugged at the material, loosening it, slipping his fingers inside to curl around the waiting flesh. Ichigo moaned into his mouth, tongue pressing forward to match the jerk of his hips.

Urahara ran his thumb over him, smearing moisture around his tip in slow, teasing circles. Ichigo broke away from the kiss, breath hissing between his teeth as his eyes fluttered shut. He pumped him once, firm and unhurried, feeling the younger man's shiver run through both of them.

He rolled Ichigo onto his back again, leaning over him, bracing one arm against the floor as he stroked him. Ichigo's head rolled back as he arched up to meet the touch. The blond lowered his head, taking a nipple between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue as he ground himself against Ichigo's thigh. Their breathing grew more ragged and Ichigo whimpered beneath him.

"I need you, Kisuke," he panted, sliding his hands over unmarred shoulders. "I need you inside me."

Urahara groaned roughly, shifting to settle between Ichigo's thighs and feeling the long legs slide up around his hips. He thrust down into him through the layers of clothes still separating them, leaning forward to nip the swollen lips beneath him.

"I want to feel you." Ichigo's breath was still tinged with sake as it ghosted across his face.

Urahara leaned in and kissed him again, his fingers already on the ties holding his hakama up. Ichigo's arms twisted around him, pulling him down, making the task harder. Sweat-slicked bodies slid together effortlessly and Ichigo made another breathy, needy noise against Urahara's lips.

"What the hell is going on here?" They froze as the familiar voice cut through the room, calling sudden attention to the fact that the light from the hall had been blocked out.

There was a click and both winced as light flooded the room. Yoruichi stood just inside the door, one finger still resting on the switch as her gaze traveled over the scene. Urahara saw her eyes narrow as she took in the sake jug still resting next to the wall before flickering over the discarded clothes and their intertwined bodies.

"What do you think you're doing?" she speared the former captain with a cold stare.

Urahara didn't bother to reply, untangling his fingers from Ichigo's hakama so that he could curl them around Benihime, who still lay, thankfully, within reach. Below him, the younger man hadn't moved, though he could feel the tension rolling off his body. Zangetsu still lay next to the sake.

It wasn't Yoruichi's sudden appearance that had caused him to freeze, or even the accusation in her tone. Truthfully, he'd barely spared her a glance, as his attention was riveted to the spot behind her where his father leaned against the door frame. His eyes held a dangerous fire, locked on the face of his former friend.

"I think the lady asked you a question." His voice was deadly soft.


	5. We Are Soldiers

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach. All characters associated with the series are the property of Tite Kubo, I am simply borrowing them for my own amusement.**  
**

**We Are Soldiers****  
**

Ichigo watched his father pace wordlessly into the room and felt Urahara tense almost imperceptibly above him. The reiatsu that had been coiled around his body, allowing him to move undetected, was starting to fluctuate under the strain of his anger. His eyes glittered with a manic fire as he stared down at his son, half naked and flushed beneath the object of his rage.

Yoruichi was slipping along the wall, pausing to pick up the sake jug so she could peer into it. He hadn't seen her in months. After the war, she'd come out of her self-imposed exile and returned to Soul Society to help rebuild. As a member of one of the four noble houses, her word carried a lot of weight, and her presence helped add stability to an organization that had suffered a number of demoralizing blows.

She wore a look of distaste as she sniffed the jug delicately, as if it somehow confirmed her worst fears. She looked up at Ichigo, but he didn't notice, his eyes had already fixed on a spot behind her where Zangetsu lay. He nudged Urahara gently.

"Who else did you bring with you?" the blond asked lightly, rolling off Ichigo and to his feet in one fluid motion.

"It doesn't matter," Isshin growled, finally tearing his eyes from his son.

"I beg to differ, Isshin." Urahara drew Benihime, resting the blade lightly against his leg, "They seem to be agitating my staff."

The thought of the kids being in danger finally shook Ichigo from his trance and he climbed to his feet, retying his hakama. He moved towards Zangetsu but Yoruichi stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"What do you think you're doing, Kisuke?" she demanded, staring over Ichigo's shoulder, shaking the jug sharply. "Has he been drinking?"

"I'm right here, you know." Ichigo gritted his teeth, giving her a hard look.

"Are you drunk?" She ran an assessing eye over him, wrinkling her nose at his state of undress as though she'd suddenly found a sense of modesty.

"Do I look drunk?" he countered, his eyes narrowed in warning.

"You gave my son alcohol and then tried to take advantage of him," Isshin spat, drawing his zanpakutou.

"I did no such thing," Urahara sighed, but Ichigo could hear the tension in his voice.

"He's just a kid, Kisuke, what were you thinking?" Yoruichi flung the jug down, shattering it and sending a wave of pungent liquor across the floor.

"What the fuck is the matter with you people?" Ichigo shouted, glaring between them.

"Stay out of this, son." Isshin didn't bother to look at him.

"The fuck I will." Ichigo growled, "You stay out of it, it's none of your business."

"I stood up for you, Kisuke," Yoruichi growled, "When Isshin came to me I didn't believe him. I told him that there was no way you'd do something like this to Ichigo, not after everything he's been through."

"I have done nothing to harm Ichigo." He spared her a look over his shoulder, his voice still calm.

"Then what do you call this? You give him sake and then try to fuck him while he's in a bad place." Her voice was cold. "I could feel the pain and confusion in his reiatsu from outside the building so don't lie to me."

"It wasn't like that," Ichigo shouted, but she continued to ignore him.

"I thought you were a better person than this," she bit out, staring at her long time friend in complete disgust.

"We all wish we could be stronger?" he murmured, his eyes unreadable.

"That's enough," Ichigo snarled, taking a step towards the blond only to be jerked back when Yoruichi's fingers closed around his arm. He rounded on her sharply, ripping out of her grasp. "Don't you fucking touch me."

"Ichigo." Urahara voice was spiked with warning.

He barely registered the shift in the air and he was already moving, just managing to slip under the arm reaching out for him. He staggered slightly, the alcohol in his system still warring with the adrenaline pumping through him. Soifon was crouched where he'd stood seconds before, her scowl made fiercer by the jagged scar running down the left side of her face; a reminder of her failed attempt to save her vice-captain.

"You will show Yoruichi-sama the proper respect," she hissed, turning to nod in the other woman's direction. "Two of my men are watching the others, they have been subdued and are unharmed."

"The fucking Shinigami are here, too?" He stared at her incredulously.

"No," Urahara corrected, dropping the placatory tone. "Seireitei would never sanction a move like this, she's acting without orders."

"I'm here in the service of Yoruichi-sama," Soifon informed him disdainfully.

"They're here because they care about you." Isshin finally spared him a glance, blade still trained on Urahara.

"No, they're here because you can't get it through your fucking head that I'm not some poor little boy who needs daddy to save him." Ichigo's reiatsu was starting to pulse. "I'm not interested in your bullshit right now, so just go the fuck away."

"Ichigo, calm down." Urahara looked worried, knowing that his emotions were already badly frayed.

"Don't talk to my son, you bastard," Isshin bellowed, taking a threatening step forward. "This is all your fault."

Ichigo saw Benihime come up and felt the tension in the room shift. He spun back to Yoruichi, "Why are you just standing there listening to him? You know me and you fucking know Kisuke, how could you believe this shit?"

She flinched slightly, but held his gaze, "What he's doing isn't right, Ichigo."

"He never did anything I didn't ask him to," he shouted, feeling something inside of him starting to slip.

She didn't reply but something in her eyes shifted, a soft kind of sadness flitting across their depths. He realized that it was pity. She pitied him. She was looking at him like he was some fragile, damaged _thing, _and he hated her for it. He hated them all for it.

"Fuck you," he hissed, wanting nothing more than to tear at her until she understood that he would never, _never_ need pity from someone like her.

Soifon's eyes narrowed dangerously and she lashed out at him, forcing him sideways to avoid being struck. His lip pulled back in a snarl. He could feel the rage pounding in his ears as she came at him again. He started to lunge forward, but an arm slipped around his waist, pulling him back and out of range. Urahara turned, bringing Benihime between Ichigo and his would-be attacker.

"It's going to be okay," he whispered against the mess of orange hair, the tension rolling off of him in thick, smothering waves. "It'll be okay if you just stay calm."

Ichigo knew it was a lie, and as if to confirm that fact Isshin gave an animalistic bellow of rage. "Get your fucking hands off my son."

Urahara barely had time to bring his blade around before Isshin attacked, the clash of steel on steel deafening in the confines of the room. He released Ichigo, using both hands to push Isshin back, moving between him and the younger man. Ichigo spun, making a dash for Zangetsu, coming within inches before Soifon caught him. He hit the ground hard, just as Urahara and his father came together again.

"Isshin, stop it. This isn't what we talked about," Yoruichi shouted, even as she lunged forward to help Soifon.

"Get off of me, you crazy bitch," Ichigo snarled, kicking hard and barely missing her as she leapt out of the way.

He hadn't even managed to get to his knees when a force smashed into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He felt something wrap around his body, like an invisible hand crushing him as he fell to one side, struggling weakly. He knew this feeling, it was a binding spell the Shinigami had used against the Arrancar, and judging by the strength, both Soifon and Yoruichi had hit him at once. He redoubled his efforts, it had been meant for the lower level forces, it couldn't hold someone of his power indefinitely.

Urahara and Isshin were furiously engaged, the former sticking to simple defense while the latter seemed out for blood. Ichigo had never seen Urahara look as young and vulnerable as he did in that moment, barefoot and shirtless, pale hair drifting into his eyes while he spun. His usual mask had slipped and the emotions danced across his face. His eyes flickered to Ichigo, sparking with fire.

"Let him go," he shouted, trying to drive Isshin back, trying to reach the boy writhing against the floor. "You don't know what you're doing. You can't do that to him."

Isshin, sensing his distraction, dove forward, forcing his opponent off balance, managing to slip under his defenses. Urahara realized his mistake a second too late and felt the bite of steel on flesh as he spun away. He fell back against the wall, clutching at his chest, blood welling between his fingers from a long, angry gash. Isshin charged again and he dodged under the attack, the force of the blow tearing a hole in the wall where he'd been standing.

"Isshin, stop!" Yoruichi shouted, crouching over Ichigo, though whether to restrain or protect was impossible to tell. Soifon watched them impassively, as if immune to the violence occurring before her.

Urahara felt a surge of reiatsu from the hall and heard Ururu screaming, trying to get to him, sensing that he'd been injured. He clenched his teeth, trying to block out the sound, jumping through the newly formed hole to avoid another strike. He felt his anger rising, pounding through his blood like fire at the people who had dared to come into his home and attack those under his protection.

Isshin started to follow him out but he pushed back savagely, looking for an opening to disarm him, still unwilling to take the fight to the next level. The commotion in the other room rose in pitch and he knew something was wrong. Someone was shouting and wild bursts of reiatsu pulsed through the building, carrying their owner's rage and fear straight into his bones.

"Kisuke-san!" a scream from the hall was accompanied by the pounding of feet.

Ururu slammed into the doorframe, narrowly avoiding the Shinigami perusing her. She pushed free, surging forward as he lunged for her, twisting midair to kick him away. There was a flurry of movement and suddenly Karin was there, leaping forward, driving her shoulder into the man's back. He stumbled but kept his feet, turning to face the new threat only to be blindsided by Jinta. They all went down in a tangle of struggling limbs.

Ururu didn't stop, didn't even slow, as she pivoted towards where Urahara and Isshin still battled furiously. Soifon was already moving to intercept her, but Ururu was too fast, slipping under her outstretched hand, feeling some hair pull free as it twisted in the grasping fingers. She leapt against the wall, using it as a springboard to launch herself at the man who she viewed as the greatest threat.

Unfortunately, she'd lost most of her momentum evading the two Shinigami, and Isshin hadn't been a captain for no reason. Sensing the danger he spun, unaware of what he was facing, only that it meant him harm. He lashed out wildly, catching her across the face with a heavy forearm, knocking her against the far wall with a sickening crunch. She bounced, hitting the floor and skidding to a stop in a boneless heap.

Ichigo could hear people screaming, but he couldn't make out what they were saying as he stared at the petite body lying just feet in front of him. He saw her lashes flutter and sweep up over dazed eyes. Blood was trickling from her mouth and scalp, spreading across her porcelain skin and dripping down to stain the floor. She pushed herself up on shaking arms and some blood that had pooled at the corner of her eye rolled down her cheek like crimson tears. He tried to reach her, pulling hard against the spell, and her eyes swung up to meet his.

"Ichigo-san," she whispered, struggling to her knees, crawling towards him.

"Run," he whispered back at her, the ringing in his ears shutting out the sound of his own voice. "Run away."

People were moving, rushing forward, rushing towards her. Behind her, he saw Karin break free, her lips pulled back in a snarl of pure rage. She was throwing herself at Yoruichi who had stepped over him to reach for Ururu. He felt his heart constrict; they were trying to touch her. Isshin was moving forward, wide eyes fixed on the small body. She was still trying to crawl, trying to reach him, trying to help him. She was still crying her bloody tears. His mind was screaming. They weren't allowed to touch her, he wouldn't let them.

A dizzy wave of nausea swam through the combatants as the full force of Ichigo's reiatsu crashed into the room, violent and unstable. He twisted, shaking off the binding spells like a dog shaking off water. He was on his feet before anyone saw him move, Zangetsu in his hand, crouching over Ururu. The air seemed to burn around him. Urahara felt the surge of rough energy and knew what it meant, tried to get to him in time, but it was too late; Ichigo was already drawing his left hand across his face as he lunged at his father.

Isshin froze as he saw the mask forming under his son's fingers; saw the tendrils of black creep over his eyes towards the already yellow irises. Ichigo's reiatsu spiked again, nearly forcing him down on one knee. He managed to get his zanpakutou up in time to avoid being decapitated, but the force of the blow sent him staggering backwards. Ichigo gave him no time to recover, driving forward, smashing into him with a force that took him off his feet. His shoulder slammed into the ruins of the wall, sending pain lancing through him as he passed through the newly formed hole and into the empty lot behind the property.

Ichigo leapt through the opening, launching himself into the air, snarling down at the man who was trying to right himself. "Bankai!" His voice held neither emotion nor recognition.

Isshin had one brief glimpse of Ichigo streaking towards him, tattered coat snapping and black daito hissing through the air, before he was on him. Sparks licked across the edges of their zanpakutous as they smashed together, the force of Ichigo's reiatsu sending shockwaves out around them and driving Isshin back to his knees. As soon as he was blocked Ichigo was gone again, moving so fast that Isshin couldn't track him.

There was a flash at the corner of his eye and he turned in time to see his son land a few feet away. Ichigo raised his left hand, pointing two fingers at his father, growling low in his throat. A ball of red energy formed in front of him, and Isshin's eyes widened in horror as he realized Ichigo was preparing to use a Cero against him. He rolled to his feet but Ichigo had already let it fly with a savage yell.

"Sing, Benihime!" another voice screamed, and the world seemed to dissolve into chaos.

Isshin was thrown to the ground as a blast of crimson energy passed overhead, smashing into the Cero, exploding with a force that was like a physical blow to his chest. Through the raining debris he saw Urahara land in a crouch in front of him, not bothering to look back. Ichigo moved again, disappearing from sight as he shifted into his bankai enhanced shunpo. Urahara spun sharply, apparently more adept at tracking his movements than Isshin.

"Getsuga tenshou!" Ichigo shouted, firing a wave of black energy at the two men.

"Sing!" Urahara countered, throwing up a crimson shield and bracing Benihime against his forearm.

The blast smashed into the barrier and Urahara gritted his teeth as he was pushed back, one knee digging hard into the jagged ground. The shield held, but only by the smallest margins, a web of cracks scarring its surface as it fell away. He heard Yoruichi shout his name but he ignored her, hoping she had the sense to stay away. He was already panting heavily and there was no time to rest because Ichigo was moving again, coming straight for him.

Benihime met Zangetsu as he surged up to meet the younger man, pierced by that hard yellow stare. They fought savagely, vying for dominance, twisting and slashing so fast that they were little more than a blur to those watching helplessly. Ichigo was fast, too fast, and Urahara knew the only reason he'd lasted this long was because he was intimately familiar with Ichigo's fighting style. Still, he was out-classed and he knew it.

He managed only another minute or two before Ichigo pushed him past his limit and he faltered, leaving a fatal opening. Ichigo slipped Zangetsu under his defenses, wrenching his arm sharply, tearing Benihime from his hand. He bit back a cry of pain as he was forced to one knee to keep his bones from snapping. Ichigo's hand shot out, tangling in his hair, pulling him up as a blade pressed into his throat. He tried to relax, demonstrating his submission, praying that some part of Ichigo still remembered where he was.

Ichigo leaned forward, rubbing against Urahara's cheek, forcing the mask away from his face and onto the side of his head. He pulled back, studying the man in his grasp with cold black and gold eyes set in an expressionless face. He cocked his head slightly to one side, leaning forward again, brushing the tips of their noses together in an affectionate caress as the blade fell away.

"Oh, thank the fucking gods!" Urahara breathed in an unusually expressive display of relief.

"I'll always recognize you, Kisuke," Ichigo murmured, releasing the hold on the pale hair and turning back to face the shop.

Yoruichi stood just outside the wall, being physically restrained by Soifon and staring at him with haunted, fearful eyes. When she saw him release Urahara she stopped trying to fight, falling to her knees and looking like she might be sick. Karin and Jinta were just climbing out of the opening, flanked by Kon, of all people, who was bleeding from his nose and the side of his neck. Soifon tilted her head, looking behind them but her men were nowhere in sight, apparently having succumbed to their attackers.

Ichigo ran an apprising eye over all of them before his gaze finally came to rest on Isshin, standing only a few feet away. He reached up, pulling the mask from his head, staring down at it for a moment before smashing it against the ground. The darkness seeped out of his eyes, though they were still as hard as ice as he glared at his father.

"Is this what you fucking wanted?" he yelled.

Isshin balked at him. "No, I-"

"You're a fucking liar," Ichigo cut him off, stepping forward, his face twisting with anger. "You came here for blood; you came here because you need to hate someone for all of the shit in your head that's not their fault."

"Ichigo, I-" Isshin faltered.

"Do you need someone to hurt for you, dad? Do you need someone to bleed for you so that you can feel like a better father?" Ichigo was screaming now.

Isshin took a step backwards, his face paling.

"If you need to hate someone, then hate me, I don't care anymore." He took another step, following the larger man's retreat. "If it's blood you need, then I'll bleed for you, dad, just leave everyone else alone."

He pressed Zangetsu against his shoulder and slashed forward, the blade sinking deep through cloth and muscle. He ripped the sword free, arching it through the air, sending a splatter of crimson droplets across his father's face.

"Is that enough?" his voice lost all emotion, blood trickling from his fingertips. "I can give you more, if you want, it doesn't even hurt. I can't feel anything anymore."

Karin leapt forward as he raised the blade again but Urahara beat her there, knocking Zangetsu from his hand and pulling him back against his chest. He slipped to his knees, dragging the younger man with him, curling around him to whisper into his ear. Isshin was still rooted in place, fingers coated in blood he'd wiped from his cheek as Karin stepped past him without a glance. She bent to retrieve Zangetsu, approaching the pair on the ground hesitantly.

Isshin seemed to regain his senses; he took a tentative step forward. "Ichigo, son, you have to-"

"Shut up." Karin's voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through everyone present. Isshin paused and she turned on him, her gaze hard. "Just shut the fuck up."

He looked like he was going to try again but she cut him off, "This is all your fault. You can't ever leave anything alone. You have to dig and pry and pretend like you understand what's going on, but you don't. You don't understand anything, so just shut up."

Isshin's jaw clenched, "Karin, you don't-"

"I said shut up!" she screamed, raising Zangetsu between them, gripping the hilt in both hands to support the weight. "I don't care what you think. No one cares about what you think, because this isn't about you. I don't care if you're mad that Ichi-nii had the balls to go and fight when you didn't; or if you want hate Kisuke because he understands your own son better than you do. None of that has anything to do with helping Ichi-nii, so I don't want to hear it."

"Karin, I'm trying to protect him." Isshin pleaded, the tip of the sword wavering in front of his chest.

"The fuck you are!" she shouted up at him. "And it doesn't matter, because even if it was true, you can't. You can't make him give you his problems when he doesn't want to, they aren't meant for you. Fuck, you wouldn't even know what to do with them, because you don't understand them. You _can't_ understand them. All you do is make things worse and you don't even care. You just keep doing the same shit over and over again because you're not doing it for Ichi-nii, you're doing it for yourself. Just fucking leave him alone already!"

She would have gone on, but a hand closed over her fingers, prying them gently from Zangetsu's hilt. The arm curled around her, pulling her backwards into a hug.

"That's enough, Karin; you don't have to fight anymore." Ichigo whispered against the back of her hair before standing to face the others. "I've had enough, I'm leaving, and so are all of you."

His eyes speared his father, daring him to speak, before moving over Yoruichi and Soifon who had remained still throughout the entire exchange. "This is over. If any of you touch Kisuke or any of his staff again I'll kill you. I've had enough of this shit so just go home."

His tone left no room for argument, and even the battle hardened Soifon flinched under it. He stared at them for a moment longer before pivoting sharply on his heel and stalking away.

"Ichi-nii, wait," Karin called after him.

"I'm sorry, Karin, I can't." He didn't even look back, using shunpo to carry him away into the gathering dusk.

Karin stared at the spot where Ichigo had last stood, feeling a cold lump settling in her throat. A hand fell on her shoulder and she looked up to find Urahara standing beside her, staring at the same spot. He gave the shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning back to face Isshin.

"You need to leave," he said plainly, sweeping his gaze over the others as well. "All of you."

Yoruichi flinched. "Kisuke, I didn't mean for it to go like this. I thought…I don't know what I thought, but it wasn't this."

"You should have asked." He looked at her sadly. "And you should have known better. How long have we been friends?"

"I'm sorry." She dropped her gave to the ground. "I just wanted-"

"Just go," he cut her off, sounding tired. "I can't have you here right now."

She nodded shakily, turning to Soifon and muttering something too quiet to hear. They disappeared back into the building, presumably to locate the two missing members of the Special Forces squad. Urahara turned back to Isshin, half expecting some argument, but none came. He looked old and broken.

"Come on, Karin, we're leaving." He turned, heading back the way he'd come.

"No." The softly spoken word brought him up short.

"What do you mean no?" he asked her dangerously, shooting a look back over his shoulder.

"I mean no, I'm not going anywhere with you." she spat, "I don't want anything to do with you right now."

"That's enough; I'm not just going to let you do whatever you want. You're only 13 and it's not safe to be running around after dark," he informed her, his tone final. "We're going home."

"No, you're going home," she shot back. "I'm done with this."

She turned, stalking into the growing darkness in the direction that Ichigo had gone.

"Get back here, Karin," Isshin shouted.

"You coming, Kon?" she called back, ignoring her father completely.

The mod soul brushed by Isshin, giving Urahara a brief shrug before jogging off to catch the dark-haired girl. Isshin looked like he was planning to follow but Urahara stepped between him and their retreating forms.

"It's time for you to go home, Isshin," he said softly, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Kon is more than capable of protecting her."

"She's my daughter," Isshin bit out.

"Yes, and if you want to keep her then you're going to have to let her go." Urahara smiled sadly, stepping around the larger man and making his way back to the damaged store.

**(*)**

It was two hours later and the darkness had fully set in when he stepped into the park and found her sitting against a tree, twirling a stick between her fingers. The light of a nearby lamp cast soft shadows around her face, hiding her eyes from view. Kon was perched on a branch a little ways above her, shredding a leaf absently and raining debris down into her hair. He didn't seem to be doing it intentionally and she didn't seem to notice. Neither of them was speaking, but Kon gave him a brief nod as he approached.

"Come to check up on me, Kisuke?" Karin's head tipped back as he came to a halt.

"You sound like your brother," he mused, crouching down in front of her, wincing as the skin on his chest pulled. "And, in answer to your question, yes I'm checking up on you."

She nodded, not looking particularly surprised, "Wanna share my tree?" She waved a hand at the grass beside her.

He smiled slightly and lowered himself into the spot, slipping a hand inside of his clothing to make sure he hadn't reopened his wound. Karin noticed the movement and frowned.

"It's fine," he assured her, "Tessai is still tending to Ururu and I am by no means critically injured."

"Is she gonna be okay?" Her eyes dropped back to the stick in her hands and she snapped it savagely in half.

"She will be fine, she is very resilient." He watched her closely, sensing a particular agitation in her aura. "I owe you my thanks, by the way, for your daring rescue of my staff. Your timing was uncanny; yet another trait you share with your brother."

She shifted uncomfortably, "It just sorta happened. When Kon got home and told me about my dad showing up at Ichi-nii's school I got suspicious. When he didn't come home I figured we should make sure he wasn't up to anything."

"Still, it was very brave of you to attack the Shinigami and free the others. I am indebted to you both." He tipped his head back to meet Kon's gaze through he leaves.

"It wasn't brave." Karin's voice was soft. "I didn't even think about it. I just saw them struggling with those people standing over them, and I lost it. One of them tried to grab me and Kon jumped on him, then it was all sort of a mess. I should have thought about what I was doing, but I was just so mad."

"You did well," he assured her, and then frowned. "What's bothering you?"

She didn't reply and he looked up at Kon again, seeking answers.

"She thinks it's her fault that Ururu got hurt," the mod soul supplied. "Because she bolted as soon as she was free and no one could get to her in time."

"I should have had a plan or something," she muttered, her eyes still downcast.

"You're too hard on yourself," Urahara chided. "You did what you thought was best, and that's all anyone could have asked of you. Ururu is grateful, I assure you."

"But she shouldn't have gotten hurt, maybe if I'd gone after dad instead…" She looked up at him, her eyes full of worries far too old for her.

"You can never know what might have happened," he sighed. "It could have turned out differently, but who's to say it would have been better. We're all still alive. It's best not to second guess yourself needlessly."

She leaned her head back against the tree, staring out into the darkness as she considered this.

"Did you know that Ichi-nii wouldn't hurt you when you jumped between him and my dad?" She broke the silence again after a few minutes.

"No," he admitted softly, "I was actually fairly certain that he _was_ going to hurt me. It wasn't until the last moment that I was even sure he knew who I was."

"So why do it?" she asked, her brows furrowing in confusion. "Why risk your life for someone who was trying to hurt you; someone who'd already hurt Ururu?"

He picked up the remnants of her mangled stick, rolling it between his fingers as he thought. "It didn't seem to be in your brother's best interest to allow him to kill his father in a fit of blind rage; no matter how obtuse Isshin was being at the moment."

"You'd die for him, wouldn't you?" she asked quietly. "For my brother, I mean."

"Gladly and without hesitation," he assured her, not even pausing to think.

"And what if he'd killed _you_, what would that have done to him?" she wondered aloud.

"I did what I thought was best at the moment, and we're all still alive so I think I'll refrain from second guessing the decision." He smiled softly.

She finally cracked the barest hint of a smirk, "I think you're full of shit sometimes."

"You're certainly not the first to think so." The smile spread to his eyes as he pushed to his feet, offering her a hand.

She met his gaze, allowing herself to be pulled up. "I don't have anywhere to go," she admitted finally.

"I figured as much," he sighed dramatically. "But as I have only lost one wall today, I think I can manage to find you a place at the shop."

She shrugged, but seemed relieved. He turned, looking up at Kon, "Are you coming as well?"

"That depends," the mod soul smirked at him, jumping lightly to the ground. "Do you think you can keep your hands off me if I do? I know you have a thing for this body and I wouldn't want you mistaking me for Ichigo." He ran a hand lightly down his chest.

Kon had never outgrown his habit of trying to lighten the mood with slightly warped humor, and Urahara appreciated the gesture.

"I think I can manage to contain myself for one night," he assured him dryly and Karin snickered beside him.

"Please, you know I'm hot." Kon rolled his eyes, dropping an arm around Karin's shoulder much in the way that Ichigo often did. He steered her back in the direction of the shop, not bothering to look back

Urahara just shook his head and fell into step with them, though he did take the time to run a finger up the back of the mod soul's neck, right where he knew Ichigo was particularly sensitive. Kon shivered, cursing under his breath, and Karin chuckled again. He found that he rather liked the sound of her amusement.

**(*)**

Urahara stepped under the spray of the showerhead and winced as the water stung the gash on his chest. It wasn't terribly deep, just enough to open up the nerves and make the surrounding flesh overly sensitive. He turned, resting his forehead against the tile wall, letting the hot water sooth away some of his aches.

He'd sat with Ururu until she was patched up; tucking her safely away in her bed with soft words to sooth her anxieties. He'd also had Tessai look over Karin and Kon, because spirited or not, fighting with members of the Special Forces was dangerous business. Luckily, it seemed that the Shinigami had been told to use as little force as possible with their prisoners, so no one had sustained serious injury. He'd ordered everyone to their beds, brushing off Tessai's attempts to tend to him until the morning. The large man looked as exhausted as everyone else from the ordeal, and there was no reason to overwork him for a trivial scratch.

He'd been lost in thought for awhile when he was interrupted by the door between his bedroom and the bathroom sliding open. He turned, watching the flicker of movement through the frosted glass as a dark shape passed into the room. Cloth scraped against cloth, agitated little noises, and he waited patiently, silently.

"I could have really hurt you." Ichigo leaned against the wall, pressing his hand softly against the glass.

"But you didn't, and that's what matters," Urahara spoke against the tile, running his finger across Ichigo's palm through the barrier between them.

"That's not all that matters," Ichigo muttered quietly, stepping away from the shower.

Urahara sighed, unable to determine the younger man's mood and wondering if he should go out there. He was just reaching back to turn off the tap when the door slid open and Ichigo stepped into the confined space. Urahara slipped back into the spray, allowing him room to move in the shower that, though not exactly small, wasn't really meant for more than one person.

"Why'd you do it?" Ichigo asked quietly, staring at him with emotion-dark eyes.

"Well I can't have you destroying my store with senseless displays of power," Urahara replied flippantly. He grabbed hold of the younger man's hips and maneuvering him under the water, watching his hair darken under the spray. "I'm a business man, after all. I have to look out for my interests."

"So you jumped in front of my father, deflecting a blast that was headed for an empty lot, just on the off chance that it might spill over and damage your store?" The corner of his mouth almost twitched.

"Well why else would I do something as stupid as that?" The blond gave him a look that said it should be obvious.

"Fuck, Kisuke, this isn't funny," he groaned, running his hands over his face and back through his hair. "I completely lost control."

"I know," Urahara murmured, squeezing shampoo out of a small bottle and reaching forward to drag his fingers through the damp orange locks. "But it wasn't your fault and it all turned out alright."

"It _was_ my fault," his voice was haunted as he leaned into the touch. "I'm supposed to be in control of myself, and I didn't even know where I was for a minute."

His eyes fell to the ragged line running across Urahara's pale flesh and he winced. He traced his fingertips over the inflamed skin beside it and the other man flinched under the not quite painful touch. He let his hand fall away.

"This is all my fault." His eyes slipped closed, his head drooping under the weight of his thoughts.

"No, that one was my fault for letting my guard down, and it's not even that bad." He pushed Ichigo back under the water, giving him a little shake, a wordless command for him to rinse his hair. "As for the rest of it, I just consider it bad timing. You were already being overrun by horrible memories, you were upset and emotionally drained, and then you were attacked by people who forced you to relive the things that were already tearing you apart. It was a ridiculous coincidence."

"I could have killed someone." Ichigo sounded miserable, his voice ragged.

"Yes, you could have," Urahara stated bluntly, pulling him back out from under the spray and forcing him to meet his gaze. "But it would have been their fault, not yours. They attacked us and you responded to that threat, maybe not in the best way, but it was still justified. They're all soldiers, they weren't blind to what they were doing and they should have known better. You can't blame yourself for other people's mistakes."

Ichigo's shoulders slumped and Urahara thought he saw tears swimming in his eyes, though if any fell they were lost in the water already streaming down his face.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he whispered brokenly, "The war is over, life was supposed to be easier now."

Urahara pulled him forward, wrapping his arms around the lean frame, ignoring the sting in his chest as their skin came together. He leaned down, pressing his lips against the top of Ichigo's shoulder.

"It gets better," he murmured against the damp skin. "I promise."

Ichigo dropped his face into the crook of Urahara's neck, relaxing slowly into the embrace. Fingers traced through his hair and up his back, trying to sooth the ache inside of him. He felt something stir within him, a tiny spark of peace in the chaos of the raging storm. The pain began to fade under the soft caress.

"Are people going to stop being such assholes about everything?" he asked finally.

"It's hard to tell, but since when do you give a fuck about what people think?" Urahara asked; being intentionally coarse because he knew Ichigo enjoyed it.

True to character, he felt lips curve against his neck. "You make a good point."

"You almost sound surprised. Shout I feel insulted?" He pulled back; brushing his nose against the younger man's cheek.

Ichigo leaned back, looking up at him, still upset but the life was creeping back into his eyes. He shifted a little in Urahara's grasp, sliding his arms up and around his neck. He winced, hissing through his teeth as the wound in his shoulder pulled painfully.

"I'm relieved to see that you've recovered your ability to feel," Urahara said dryly, one eyebrow twitching upward.

"No one likes a smartass." Ichigo scowled at him.

"So I keep telling you, but it doesn't seem to make a difference," the blond quipped, leaning down to rest their foreheads together. "It was a stupid thing to do."

Ichigo huffed, dropping his eyes as he winced again. "I'll admit that it wasn't my best idea," he muttered.

"Yes, well you _do_ tend to be a bit overly dramatic when you're upset," Urahara acknowledged, detangling their arms to get a better look at the injury. Ichigo sucked in a breath as fingers prodded the area, but he didn't push them away. "It looks like it's already healing; did you spend some time in your mask?"

Ichigo nodded and Urahara let his hands drop. They'd discovered during the war that Ichigo healed much faster when he spent extended periods drawing on his Hollow powers. Something about his Hollow side having regeneration abilities that his Shinigami side did not.

"I noticed Karin's still here." Ichigo changed the subject, washing the last of the soap from his hair and stepped aside so that Urahara could resume his interrupted shower. "Is she okay?"

"She had a bit of a disagreement with your father after you left. I offered her and Kon a place to stay for the night," Urahara informed him, dragging shampoo through his own hair as he spoke.

"She shouldn't be involved in this." Ichigo leaned back against the tile, letting his eyes fall closed.

"Would you like to be the one to tell her that?" Urahara snorted softly, "Because honestly, she scares me a little."

Ichigo cracked a weak smile, "She's stubborn as hell."

"She reminds me of you," Urahara pointed out, rubbing soap between his hands and stepping forward to run them over Ichigo's chest.

The younger man cracked an eye open, looking up at him. "I can still wash myself, you know. I'm not quite _that_ fucked up yet."

Urahara smirked, but made no move to stop what he was doing. Ichigo allowed himself to be turned, pressing his palms against the tile as the other man repeated the same process on his back. Ichigo sighed softly as fingers applied the perfect amount of pressure in just the right spots to release the tension still lingering in his muscles. After a few moments he felt Urahara lean into him, nuzzling against the back of his hair, slipping sideways so that his lips brushed his ear.

"Rinse," he commanded softly against his skin.

He started to pull away but Ichigo turned, catching hold of his wrist, his other hand tangling in the blond hair as he pulled their lips together. Urahara rested a forearm against the wall next to Ichigo head, leaning into the kiss. He grunted as Ichigo pressed against him, the soap stinging his cut. Ichigo licked at his lip apologetically, his mouth falling open to invite the other man inside.

Urahara wrapped an arm around him and pulled them both under the water, lips and tongues moving together in an erotic dance. Ichigo's arms slid back around his neck, groaning into the kiss. Urahara's smiled slightly as he pulled back, grabbing hold of Ichigo's hips to keep them from thrusting forward.

"You're supposed to be washing the soap off, not spreading it all over me," he chuckled, pushing Ichigo away so that the water could roll over him.

Ichigo was panting heavily, his eyes dark with lust, but he complied, spinning slowly to wash himself clean. He paused facing the wall, turning his head to stare at Urahara over his shoulder, his lips parting slightly. He leaned forward, pressing his palms against the tile, spreading his feet a little wider. Urahara groaned at the blatant invitation.

He slid forward, warm flesh sliding together as he pressed a kiss to the back of the younger man's neck, nipping gently at the skin. Ichigo shivered, a breathy moan tumbling from his lips as Urahara trailed slow kisses along his spine and over the plane of his shoulder blade. He continued downward, his hands stroking the soft skin at Ichigo's waist, holding him still. The blond sank to his knees, his tongue tracing the delicate curve of the spine, his hands slipping lower, teasing.

"Kisuke, what are you …FUCK!" Ichigo yelped, his nails scraping across the tile as Urahara's tongue ran over his tightly puckered opening.

"Good?" he smirked, lapping at him gently, feeling him shudder under the touch. He'd never done this for Ichigo, and judging by the reaction, it had been a grave oversight.

"Gods, Kisuke…ngghh…" Ichigo groaned helplessly, his breath hitching painfully when the tongue became more persistent, pressing deeper into him in slow, twisting circles.

Urahara's fingers dug into his skin, spreading him wider as his tongue thrust forward with skilled precision. Ichigo was trembling violently, a mixture of curses and moans accompanying every breath as he rocked back against that wicked tongue over and over again. The blond pulled away, lapping at him once again, one hand slipping forward to wrap around Ichigo's straining erection. A hoarse shout echoed off the walls as Ichigo arched forward, his knees threatening to give out.

Urahara continued to stroke him as he drew back, trailing open mouthed kisses over to his hip, sinking his teeth gently into the soft flesh. He wetted two fingers in his own mouth, slipping them deep into the waiting body, earning himself another sharp cry. He pushed back to his feet, latching onto the side of Ichigo's throat as he twisted the fingers in his body.

"S-shit," Ichigo whimpered, his head falling against the tiles. "I need you…_now._"

Urahara withdrew his hand, grabbing hold of his hips once again, spinning him around so that they were face to face. He stepped between Ichigo's legs, pressing him against the wall, dipping his head to take a soft earlobe between his teeth. Ichigo moaned, tilting his head sideways, thrusting forward to rub their erections together. Rewetted fingers found their way behind him, thrusting back into him, stroking that spot that sent sparks dancing behind his eyelids.

"Kisuke, please…" his voice was ragged, coming out in gasps.

Hands slid lower, pulling at the backs of his thighs, urging him higher. He wrapped an arm around Urahara's neck and reached up with the other to grab the top of the shower, supporting some of his weight. He started to wrap his legs around the other man's waist but Urahara stopped him, slipping an arm under one knee, opening him wider as he braced his palm on the wall next to Ichigo's chest. He pulled the other leg up against his side, holding it in place with a hand under his thigh.

Ichigo could feel the hard length of Urahara's arousal nudging his entrance, throbbing against him as he rocked his hips forward. There was a moment of resistance, a brief stinging pressure, and then head of his cock slipped past the tight ring of muscle. Ichigo choked on a whimper, biting his lip against the burn of friction as he was stretched to capacity. They'd never done this without proper lube and the sensation was overwhelmingly intense. Urahara stilled, panting against his damp neck, his whole body shaking with tension.

"Gods, you're so tight like this," he shuddered breathlessly, "Are you okay?"

"M'fine, just keep moving." Ichigo hissed, throwing his head back against the tile.

Urahara turned, licking the water off of Ichigo's neck as he inched out of him before thrusting gently forward, biting down to muffle his groan. Ichigo gasped, arching his back, his mouth falling open. Urahara leaned into him, skin sliding across wet skin, pressing him against the tile as he pushed forward again, ghosting across his prostate. Ichigo whimpered, shifting against the body holding his captive, trying to meet the next thrust as he slid against the wall.

"Kisuke…" He strained against him, moaning brokenly.

Urahara groaned, biting down on the side of Ichigo's neck as a shiver ran through him. The sex-rough, begging tone always killed him. He slid his hand up the wall, dragging Ichigo's leg higher, tilting his hips forward as he rocked into him again. Ichigo's moan turned into a yelp, his nails digging into Urahara's shoulder.

"Shit, right there," he choked, dragging his hand into the wet blond hair, gritting his teeth as Urahara continued to drive into him.

The tile slid under Ichigo's back as the force of the trusts increased. The glass creaked ominously as he pulled himself up, driving down to impale himself harder, drawing a choked moan from Urahara. He tugged on the hair, crushing their lips together, plunging his tongue into the other mouth with frenzied need.

"Harder," he pleaded, sucking Urahara's lip into his mouth. "Fuck me harder."

"Gods, Ichigo…" The other man shuddered, slamming into him, shoving him up the wall with every thrust.

Ichigo cried out sharply, his head rolling sideways as his eyes squeezed shut. The burn still lingered, but Urahara was striking his prostate with enough force that the pleasure was almost painful, and he couldn't get enough. He gripped the edge of the shower, driving down hard to meet the thrusts, no longer caring if the glass broke under his weight.

"Fuck." Urahara growled, burying his face into Ichigo's neck, biting his lip hard against his threatening release.

Ichigo wasn't even trying to be quiet, panting and cursing, arching off the wall. His hand twisted in Urahara's hair as he trembled, the coiling pressure starting to peak. He heard Urahara moan next to his ear, the sound so raw and desperate that it was like a shock running straight to his cock. It was all too much, the pleasure, the friction, the need.

"Ngghh…Kisuke…FUCK!" Ichigo came violently, the force of his orgasm sending colors dancing across his vision, his release splattering across their still moving bodies.

Urahara bent down, lapping up a few drops that clung to his collarbone, riding out the waves of pleasure as the young body pulsed around him. He thrust wildly, leaning in to capture Ichigo's mouth again, muffling his own shout of release. He jerked, a shudder running through him, threatening to take him off his feet as he emptied himself into Ichigo's still twitching body. He collapsed forward against the other man, pinning him tight against the wall, breathing raggedly.

He disentangled himself slowly after a moment's rest, pulling out of the slick heat, lowering Ichigo back to the ground with shaking arms. Panting and exhausted, he slid to his knees, unable to support his own weight any longer. Ichigo went with him, straddling his lap and kissing him languidly.

"The water got cold," the younger man noted after awhile, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Yes, well, we've been in here for quite some time." Urahara kissed the end of his nose lazily.

They managed to break apart, struggling back to their feet to wash away the remnants of their encounter under the nearly frigid spray. They toweled off silently, to tired and sluggish for real conversation. Ichigo paused in his attempts to finger comb his hair when he felt arms wrap around him from behind. He leaned back into the embrace, his head falling forward as lips pressed into the back of his neck.

Urahara didn't speak, just continued to hold him gently, his eyes closed. Ichigo knew that he was worried, even though he was trying not to show it. He slid one hand up to cup the side of his face, the other coming to rest over the arms around his waist, trying to offer reassurance. Urahara must have understood the gesture, because he pressed another kiss against his skin and ushered him out of the small room.

**(*)**

"You know, I'm a bit envious of you," Urahara murmured, propping himself up on an elbow to stare down at the boy lying next to him.

"Why's that?" Ichigo asked, tucking an arm behind his head and staring up at him.

"I had a bit of an infatuation with Ukitake while I was at the academy, and even after. He was already a captain and was one of the most powerfully beautiful people I'd ever seen." Urahara had a wistful look in his eyes. "I was always too intimidated to talk to him, and even after I made captain I still viewed him as something of a paragon figure. Completely untouchable."

"He was always just a person to me; I didn't know enough about him to be intimidated." Ichigo's smile was both fondness and pain at the memory. "You're right about him being beautiful, though; he was hot as hell."

He cocked his head to one side, staring up into the pale eyes above him. "You know, it's weird, I always thought you were more into girls."

"I can see how you might think that," Urahara said dryly, leaning down to place a kiss against his chest. "Thought I must say, some of your actions were rather questionable if you truly believed it."

"I knew you wouldn't hate me for trying, so I took a chance. I figured the worst that could happen was you'd turn me down." Ichigo reached up, tucking a piece of blond hair back behind his ear. "It was worth the risk to have you touch me. I needed to be touched," he murmured, serious and reflective.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Urahara turned his head, pressing his lips into the palm still resting against his cheek.

Ichigo smirked faintly, dropping the hand and returning to his original line of thought. "I guess I just always saw you with Yoruichi and figured there was something going on there. Never saw you show any interest in guys."

"To be fair, I've been rather preoccupied with world threatening events since I met you. I haven't had much of an opportunity to show interest in _anyone_prior to this" he sighed, running his fingers lightly over Ichigo's stomach. "Truthfully, I never saw the point of limiting myself to only half of the population. Too many wasted opportunities." His grin shone in the semi-darkness.

Ichigo snorted, "You really are a pervert."

"You're the one who keeps denying that, not me." He leaned down to kiss the younger man affectionately.

"I'm sorry about Yoruichi," Ichigo said softly after the blond had pulled away.

"Don't concern yourself with it," he replied, his eyes turning hard.

"My dad was way out of line, I'm sure he told her all sorts of crazy things," Ichigo pressed, wondering why he was bothering to defend her. "She probably thought she was doing the right thing."

"She should have come to me personally if she thought there was a problem." Urahara said tiredly, resting his forehead against Ichigo's chest. "It was wrong of her to support such tactics."

"I doubt my father mentioned anything about attacking you." Ichigo sounded irritated. "He probably thought of it as some sort of _intervention_, trying to save his poor, helpless son. He just can't control his anger anymore."

"I appreciate your attempt to defend Yoruichi, but there's no need to get worked up." Urahara trailed soft kisses up to his neck, rubbing his nose along his jaw. "It will be fine, she'll slink back eventually."

"You're going to forgive her?" Ichigo sounded surprised, and strangely, a little relieved.

"Of course," the other man assured him, "I've lost enough friends, there's no need to lose more over a misunderstanding."

"Only you could downplay a potentially fatal attack to a _misunderstanding_." Ichigo rolled his eyes lightly. "I suppose you'd forgive my dad, too."

"Absolutely," Urahara mumbled against his throat.

"You're too fucking nice sometimes." Ichigo shook his head in exasperation.

"I know." Urahara gave a longsuffering sign, rolling onto his back. "It's my one great flaw."

Ichigo snorted, watching him reach up to trace his injury like it was bothering him again. He frowned, turning towards the other man.

"Hanatarou tried to teach me a couple of healing spells once; do you want me to try one?" he asked, reaching out gently to touch the skin.

"As tempting as it sounds to be a guinea pig for untrained kidou, I think I'll have to pass." Urahara chuckled softly, "I'll be fine until morning."

"See if I offer to help you again," Ichigo huffed, settling his head against the pale skin. An arm slipped around him, carefully avoiding the injury on his upturned shoulder.

"Tessai will fix both of us in no time tomorrow," he assured him, stroking his arm lightly with soft fingertips.

"I was actually thinking of letting it heal naturally," Ichigo admitted, "Sort of a reminder to quit doing stupid shit when I'm angry."

"It would never work." Urahara pressed a kiss to his temple, smirking against his hair. "You're far too stubborn to learn from something as trivial as that."

It was another good point, Ichigo realized, though he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of voicing it aloud. He settled a bit more comfortably against the warm body, letting the steady stroke of fingers over his skin pull his already exhausted mind towards sleep. There were a lot of things that needed to be dealt with, but he just didn't have the energy to think about them at the moment. He hoped that everything would be clearer in the morning.


	6. Slow Decay

**Slow Decay **

Ichigo's sleep habits had never been the same since he'd returned from the war. The little things that he used to take for granted, whether it be a sound, a feeling, or just the stray thread of a half-forgotten dream were now enough to bring him panting back to awareness, straining in the dark. It was usually better with Urahara, because even if the panic came there was an arm to tighten around him, or lips to brush over his skin, something to remind him where he was. Unfortunately, times of stress seemed to make these occurrences more common, which was why he currently found himself glaring murderously at the door for no apparent reason while a hand traced sleepy patterns over his chest.

"What's wrong?" Urahara murmured against the back of his hair, his voice sluggish.

"Just a noise," Ichigo grumbled irritably, feeling the tension ebb from his straining muscles.

"Hardly surprising considering the number of people I'm housing," Urahara reminded him, sounding slightly more awake as he pressed a lazy kiss against the back of his neck. "Go back to sleep."

Ichigo shifted restlessly, his injured shoulder throbbing painfully, protesting his apparent decision to sleep on it. "What time is it?"

The former captain made a little noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. "It feels early."

Ichigo turned slowly in Urahara's arms, rolling to face him, relieving the pressure on his aching shoulder. "That's because you're lazy." He smirked; nudging the other man's legs apart so that he could slip one of his own between them.

"I'm not lazy, I'm tired," the blond muttered, finally cracking an eye open to look at him. "I've been busy."

Ichigo's smirk fell away as the weight of the past week settle over him. "How's your chest?"

"Uncomfortable." Urahara leaned forward to brush his nose over Ichigo's. "But don't worry about it."

He stared into the green-grey eyes still clouded with the remnants of sleep, watching as pale lashes swept low in a gesture that might have been coy if he didn't look so tired. This was how he liked to remember him, relaxed and smirking faintly, so different from the sad look of fatigue that he wore so often now. It was almost enough to dispel the image of his chin tilting away, his eyes begging to be remembered as Zangetsu pressed against his throat. Ichigo jerked sharply, tearing from the memory, feeling the pull of his lingering anger.

"You should have let me kill him," he muttered darkly, dropping his gaze to hide the emotions simmering beneath the surface.

"That's a horrible thing to say," Urahara chided with an exaggerated sigh, brushing his nose over the rise of a cheekbone. "Think of the mess it would have made."

"Why are you still defending him?" Ichigo grumbled, though the corners of his lips twitched slightly.

"I'm just being practical," Urahara assured him, leaning in to catch his mouth.

Ichigo sighed against his lips, recognizing that the older man was trying to distract him from the issue. He wasn't oblivious to Urahara's mixed feeling of loyalty when it came to him and Isshin, but there was nothing he could do about it. It pissed him off sometimes, but he didn't take it personally; Urahara was just complicated like that and _he_ sure as hell wasn't in a position to judge anyone else's problems. Still, if Isshin refused to back down, there was going to be a reckoning and Ichigo wasn't blind to what that might require of him. He felt the familiar detachment settling over him, distancing him from the thoughts running through his head.

"I could do it if that's what it came down to." His voice was hard, though his body remained relaxed in the embrace.

"That doesn't mean that you _should_," Urahara pointed out gently, "Try to remember there's a difference."

"So you think that I should just let him hurt you? Let him hurt Ururu?" Ichigo demanded, his reiatsu churning with the memories of bloody tears on china doll skin.

"Of course not." The blond leaned forward, rubbing his jaw over wild orange hair. "It was incredibly stupid of him to come here like that."

"But you still feel bad for him," he pressed, dark and bitter.

"It's a difficult situation," Urahara hedged gently, trailing his fingers over Ichigo's back, nuzzling his face in an almost apologetic gesture.

Ichigo huffed, the noise harsher than he really intended, biting his tongue against any further reply. He didn't want to fight anymore, not with Urahara, not with _anyone_. He was too tired to fight. He was too tired for any of it.

"You're angry," Urahara murmured, breaking the silence as he shifted him a little closer.

"It's fucked up." Ichigo slumped against him, a heavy sadness creeping into his voice. "The whole thing's just fucked."

Urahara made a little sound of agreement, a wry smile flickering over his lips as his eyes fell closed. "An astute observation, and as eloquently phrased as always."

Ichigo couldn't help the smirk that twisted the corner of his mouth. Urahara always managed to reach him, no matter how far he buried himself in the darkness, no matter how hard he tried to hold on. There was just something about the way the voice rolled over his frayed nerves, the fingers soothing his aching thoughts, that made him feel like there might still be something left in his otherwise shitty world.

"It's too damn hard to be mad at you," he complained halfheartedly, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw.

"I know," Urahara sympathized with a dramatic sigh, turning his head to nip at the caress. "My charm can be such a trial at times."

He caught one of Ichigo's fingers between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue before drawing it further into his mouth. He sucked on it gently, nibbling and licking, molesting it thoroughly before relinquishing his hold. Lashes drifted over pale eyes again, but the sleep had faded from his expression and the effect vastly different. Ichigo's pulse jumped.

It was unusual for Urahara to initiate anything overtly sexual between them, usually opting for gentle caresses and soft displays of affection until Ichigo took it to the next level. It wasn't that he didn't have the urge, far from it in fact, but his deeper interests lay in his concern for Ichigo. He didn't have any miracle cure that could make things right, but he could offer comfort for the agony that he understood so well, he could listen to the half choked memories as they tumbled from those perfect lips, and he could touch him like he so desperately needed when it all became too much to bear. This was all he had to give, and if that meant reigning in some of his own desires then he would, because it wasn't about him.

On occasion, however, there was something in the younger man's eyes, something that pulled deep inside him, that tore at his resolve. It was a sense of sadness, a horrible loneliness that made him want to reach out and touch him in any way he could to remind him that there was still hope, no matter how faint it seemed. His eyes fell to the lips, still slightly parted, and he leaned forward, breathing in Ichigo's soft gasp as he claimed them.

There was nothing forceful about the way he pressed his tongue into the waiting mouth, just a soft, slow caress as he ran his hand up the smooth flesh of his back. Ichigo responded easily, tilting his head, stroking against his tongue with practiced finesse. A hand traced over his face, brushing the hair away from his cheek, gliding against the curve of his ear. Ichigo pressed forward, invading his mouth, the hand sliding deeper into his hair as he drank in his flavor.

They pulled apart, panting softly, staring at each other in silence. A slow smile curled across Ichigo lips and Urahara felt the ache in his chest uncoil, sighing as the life returned to the eyes pinning him from beneath dark lashes. Ichigo kissed him again, slow and languid.

"You know," He pulled back, trialing his tongue over Urahara's lower lip. "It's too bad you're hurt, because I was just thinking how amazing you look when I fuck you."

He was close enough to see the pupils dilate in the darkening eyes as Urahara's breath hitched.

"It's hardly even a scratch," he murmured, a slight tremor running through him.

"Mm-hmm." Ichigo was kissing him again, needier and more demanding. "I think you just want me to fuck you?" he panted against his lips.

"Good to see you're s-still…s-somewhat observant." Urahara let out a shuddering breath as Ichigo ground his thigh between his legs, licking a hot trail down his neck.

A hand found its way into tousled orange hair, pulling him back into the kiss, plunging deep into his mouth. Ichigo responded, a soft noise rising in the back of his throat, grinding harder against him with silky promise. His hand trailed lower, catching the top of light linen pants, pushing them down over a sharp hipbone.

A crash from the other room snapped his head around, his body coiling tight.

"What the fuck was that?" he panted, tension rolling off him in heavy waves.

"Sounds like someone broke something," Urahara sighed, not looking particularly worried, running a hand lightly down his cheek.

Ichigo continued to stare at the door, listening intently, poised to strike.

Urahara shifted onto his back, brushing his hair out of his face and breathing heavily. "I should probably go and make sure everything's alright."

"I'll go." Ichigo was already on his feet and reaching for Zangetsu.

"Honestly, Ichigo, it's not an invasion." Urahara rolled gracefully out of bed, reaching for a robe. "At least put something on, you're currently leaving little to the imagination."

Ichigo looked down at the front of his shorts and had to admit the other man was right. There was no need to subject his sister to _that_ kind of trauma over what was probably no worse than a broken jar. He kicked them off and stepped into his hakama, retying them quickly.

"Better?" He demanded as the other man approached, spinning Benihime idly in one hand.

Urahara came to a halt, stroking his fingers over the exposed flesh along one of his hips. "Not really," he admitted with a wicked smirk.

"Fine," Ichigo grumbled, looking for the rest of his clothes, "I'll be out in a minute."

Urahara withdrew his hand reluctantly and headed for the door, casting one last, heated look over his shoulder before disappearing into the hall. After yesterday's incident he'd taken more precautions with security, so he wasn't particularly worried that anything was seriously wrong. On the other hand, he always maintained that it was better to be safe than sorry, and with the amount of odd concoctions he kept around the place it was best to check on what had broken.

He found the source of the disturbance in the dining area, where Karin, Ururu, and Kon had apparently converged. The latter was currently crouched on the floor, gingerly transferring pieces of broken glass into the trash while Ururu soaked up a puddle with a rag.

"Glad to see it wasn't an invasion after all." Urahara smiled pleasantly when all eyes snapped to him. He noted, with a perplexed sort of amusement, that Kon had achieved a level of blush that he hadn't seen on Ichigo's face in years.

"See, I told you they were fine." Karin rolled her eyes, smirking at Kon.

"Did something happen to warranted concern?" Urahara looked between the two with mild curiosity.

"No," Karin snorted, but before she could elaborate Ichigo materialized in the doorway, radiating tension and gripping Zangetsu.

"What happened?" he demanded, looking as if he expected trouble in every shadow.

Urahara looped an arm around his waist, pulling him against his chest and resting his chin on his shoulder. "It seems Kon broke a cup and Karin was about to recount the details," he spoke next to his ear.

"It's nothing, it just slipped," Kon muttered uncomfortably, returning the trash to the corner and dropping back onto his cushion.

"Liar," Karin snickered, ignoring his mutinous glare as she turned towards Urahara and her brother. "He felt Ichi-nii get upset a couple of times and thought that maybe we should check on you. _I_ said that we should just leave you alone, because you'd probably be fucking by the time we got there."

Urahara chuckled against the side of Ichigo's head as the younger man stiffened and Kon made a distressed, whining noise.

"What?" Karin inquired innocently, "I'm still impressionable, I don't need to see that shit."

Kon dropped his head into his hands and Urahara bit his lip against another laugh. "And these observations lead to the dropped cup?" he inquired.

"No." Karin completely ignored Kon and Ichigo, smirking at the blond over her brother's shoulder. "He was fine until I mentioned that we'd know soon enough, 'cause it's not like we wouldn't be able to hear you."

Urahara choked on his own amusement as he saw the tips of Ichigo's ears go pink. Kon had long since given in to his horror and was sitting with his forehead against the table, one hand gripping the back of his neck. Even Ururu, who was accustomed to their relationship by now, was staring at the floor as if it held the answers to all of life's questions when she mumbled something about inventory and fled.

"I take it some of our _activities_ were less than subtle?" Urahara guessed, looking just slightly apologetic.

Kon made another strange noise against the table, his hand clenching in his hair. Karin snorted in morbid amusement, looking between him and the still frozen Ichigo before nodding to the blond.

"That was truly bad manners." Urahara gave her a solemn look, his lip twitching faintly. "I will attempt to be a better host in the future."

"It's fine." Karin played along with the mood, shrugging nonchalantly as if they were talking about something as mundane as the weather. "Ichi-nii's always been loud."

"Karin!" Ichigo spluttered, the tip of Zangetsu impacting the floor with a dull thud. "Don't say shit like that."

"Well it's true," she insisted, hauling out her rarely used innocent look.

Ichigo seemed at a momentary loss for words, caught between his sisters wide eyed stare and Urahara's soft chuckle against his hair. He scowled; wishing embarrassment was one of those emotions he could easily suppress.

"You were unusually vocal last night, even for you," the blond whispered, pulling back to nip at one of his blush stained ears. Ichigo's scowl deepened.

Urahara released him, heading for the kitchen, trying to keep the smirk from his face. It was always interesting to watch Ichigo blush, because it happened so rarely anymore. It was a nice reminder that there was still some of his old self left in there, that the war hadn't thoroughly hardened him.

When he returned to the table with some extra cups, he found Ichigo seated next to Kon, apparently recognizing that, having been the most horrified person in the room, he was least likely to continue the conversation. He set two cups between them and moved to take his seat, though not before tracing a finger behind each of their ears and watching them share an almost identical shiver. Karin choked into her cup as Kon cursed colorfully, the blush returning to his cheeks.

"Stop doing that," the mod soul demanded, though there was a slight tremor to his voice that made one of Urahara's pale brows twitch in interest.

"Kisuke, have you been molesting Kon?" Ichigo sounded faintly amused, apparently having recovered from his shock.

"Only very slightly," Urahara assured him. "Certainly nothing to cause permanent trauma."

Ichigo smirked, looking across at Karin who was still snickering and using a napkin to wipe up a few drops of tea. "I suppose it was with the best of intentions."

"Naturally," Urahara said loftily, passing Karin a fresh napkin.

Ichigo rolled his eyes and poured himself some tea, wondering how they could possibly be joking after the fiasco of the previous day.

He was still shaking his head at the depth of their emotional issues when a movement in the hall grabbed his attention. He frowned, unable to make out its source in the darkness. It moved again, seeming to draw closer, dipping lower like a leaf caught in a draft. He was about to alert the others when it finally caught the light spilling through the doorway, slipping lazily forward to join them in the room.

Ichigo stared at the dark, fluttering creature, realizing, to his surprise, that it was a Hell Butterfly. He hadn't seen one in over a year and for one to show up here of all places was completely unfathomable. What shocked him more, however, was the fact that Karin was giving it an absolutely murderous look as it dropped gently onto her outstretched finger.

"I already said no," she stated flatly, even before it had settled its wings.

This declaration earned her looks of varying confusion from everyone but Kon, who just shook his head and returned to his tea. She wasn't paying attention, caught up by the words whispered too softly for the others to make out.

"Well too bad, it's not my house." She frowned at the little creature as though it could somehow convey her outrage to its master.

The whispering started again, but Urahara had already caught something, motioning Ichigo to stay as he slipped from the room. Ichigo watched dumbfounded as Karin continued to glare, arguing with the butterfly as though this were something she did all the time.

"Why the hell bother to send the first one if you're just going to do whatever the fuck you want?" she demanded, her scowl only getting darker as a reply was forthcoming.

"He already left, and I can talk however I like," she griped, sounding sullen and just a little petulant. Ichigo recognized the tone; whoever she was arguing with was starting to wear her down.

He wanted to question her, but couldn't bring himself to interrupt as she shook her head subtly against whatever she was hearing. "That's shitty logic," she insisted with a sigh. "You _always_ do whatever you want."

"Just because _you _don't agree doesn't mean it's faulty logic." Urahara had returned, followed by a rather incensed figure still talking into a headset looped over his ear.

"Fuck, Toushirou, what part of no don't you understand?" Karin had transitioned seamlessly, the butterfly drifting away as she stalked towards the white haired captain.

He just blinked at her in exasperation, catching the finger that was jabbing at his chest.

"When did you get so vulgar?" he muttered with a sigh.

She blinked back at him, a slow smirk breaking onto her features.

"When Ichi-nii started fucking Kisuke," she responded easily, pulling her finger form his grasp. "It's sort of a deal we have."

He gave her an incredulous look before scanning the other occupants of the room, apparently looking for some thread of sanity, though none was immediately forthcoming.

"It's been awhile, Toushirou." Ichigo nodded to him, still on edge from the rather unusual appearance.

"Kurosaki." Hitsugaya returned the nod, having long since given up on formalities.

"What can we do for you, Hitsugaya-kun?" Urahara was leaning against the wall in an easy manner, though his eyes remained sharp.

"He wants to talk to Ichi-nii," Karin supplied, rounding on the young captain once again. "And I already said no."

"You can't just say no." He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking for all the world like he didn't know what to make of the conversation.

"Why are you sending Hell butterflies to my sister if it's me you want to talk to?" Ichigo interjected, drumming his fingers lightly against the table.

"I was being courteous; I simply mentioned to her that I intended to visit." Hitsugaya would have sounded indifferent to anyone who didn't know him better.

"That doesn't answer the question of why you were talking to her in the first place," Ichigo pointed out, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Hitsugaya made no outward show of discomfort, but there was a slight pull to his mouth that indicated he wasn't happy with the direction of the conversation. Karin looked between the two of them and sighed dramatically.

"He's just bothering you 'cause I told him I kissed you," Karin informed Hitsugaya, ignoring his look of horrified disbelief as she turned back to her brother. "Toushirou heard about your fight, and that I was there. He sent a Butterfly to make sure everything was okay."

"Uh-huh." Ichigo still wasn't satisfied, but he wasn't in the mood to push it so he just moved on. "So why are you here?"

"Uh." Hitsugaya was still staring at Karin in disbelief. He blinked, turning slowly toward Ichigo, seeming to remember his original intent. "I was sent to investigate the circumstances behind your recent _encounters_."

"You mean fighting with my dad?" Ichigo gave him a hard look. "What the hell does Soul Society care about that? How do they even know?"

"Do you really think you can just throw around that kind of power and not have anyone notice?" Hitsugaya's eyebrow twitched upward subtly. "As for the interest Seireitei is taking in it, that's somewhat complicated."

"By complicated do you mean dangerously paranoid?" Urahara murmured shrewdly, waving the younger man towards the table.

Hitsugaya stared at him for a moment, an unspoken understanding passing between them before he relented, talking the offered seat as Urahara dropped down next to Ichigo.

"They're concerned about the potential problem," he clarified, still looking at Urahara.

"What potential problem?" Ichigo looked between them, not having caught whatever they both seemed to be thinking.

"The problem that would arise should you lose control on a more _permanent _level." Urahara held his gaze steadily.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ichigo shifted to face Hitsugaya.

"They're worried that you might be becoming unstable," the young captain confirmed with an unreadable look. "They want you evaluated as a possible threat."

"What?" Ichigo exclaimed, looking back to Urahara.

"That's crazy," Karin shouted, her eyes flashing, "Why would you think something like that?"

"Do you think it was my idea?" Hitsugaya shot her a hard look.

"An interesting point," Urahara cut in, still watching Ichigo. "Who actually _did_ raise the issue?"

Hitsugaya tore his gaze back around, a look of distaste simmering just beneath the surface. "Soifon met with the Commander General last night. She reported that, in her opinion, you are losing your grip on reality and are engaging in activities which are dangerous to not only the people around you, but possibly to Soul Society as well."

"That fucking bitch," Karin gritted out viciously, her hair stirring slightly under the rise of untrained reiatsu.

"_Losing my grip on reality?_" Ichigo's anger sparked. "What the fuck is everyone's problem lately?"

Urahara slid a hand over his, squeezing gently before turning to the captain

"Did she happen to give a full account of the event?" His voice was soft, but with an edge that could have cut steel.

"In a way, but given what I've heard from Karin, I would say that her report lacked adequate detail." Hitsugaya brushed his hair back in agitation. "She simply stated that she accompanied a group to confront Kurosaki regarding certain negative behaviors, and that when the situation deteriorated he lost control of himself, going so far as to actually attack the person he had been trying to protect."

"They fucking attacked _us_." The table jumped as Ichigo's palms slammed down, his reiatsu flaring wildly. "They came in here and used kidou on me! My fucking dad tried to kill Kisuke and smashed Ururu into a wall! Was I just supposed to fucking stand there?"

"I understand that." Hitsugaya looked angry, though it wasn't directed at Ichigo. "But she didn't mention those details and I doubt it would have made a difference either way."

"How could it not make a difference?" Ichigo started to rise but an arm snaked around his waist, hauling him closer to a familiar body.

"They're afraid," Urahara murmured against his hair. "After what happened with Aizen they're going to be suspicious of anyone with your kind of power."

"But that's bullshit," Karin exploded. "Ichi-nii would never do something like that."

"Of course he wouldn't." Urahara turned his head slightly to regard her. "But that isn't going to make them less paranoid."

"It's still bullshit," Karin grumbled.

"It's just a precaution." Hitsugaya gave them a tired look. "They just wanted me to come and check things out, make a report."

"And what happens if they decide I'm a threat?" Ichigo bit out, his tone laced with resentment.

"I doubt they've thought that far ahead." Urahara traced slow patterns up his back, shooting Hitsugaya a hard look that Ichigo missed. "They're just being overly cautious."

Something passed briefly through the young captain's eyes and Urahara's jaw twitched as he gave a very subtle shake of his head. There was no need to worry anyone needlessly over something he would never allow to occur.

"This is all dads' fault," Karin said bitterly, drawing everyone's attention. "He's the one who got that bitch involved in the first place."

"I'm sure he didn't mean for it to happen," Urahara sighed, "But it was certainly an unfortunate decision."

"He was already fucking everything up, and now he's putting Ichi-nii in even more danger." Her fury was rising and Ichigo reached across the table to take her hand.

"Don't worry about me; I can take care of myself," he assured her, his eyes cold and determined.

She met his gaze, dark fire rippling beneath the surface of her features before a hard barrier clicked into place.

"I'm not going back there," she declared, her voice low and angry.

"What about Yuzu?" It was the first time Kon had spoken throughout the entire ordeal.

Karin's jaw clenched. She had sworn to protect Yuzu, but she refused to be under the same roof with her father, not after what he'd done.

"I wonder how she'd feel about visiting some old friends," Kon mused, his eyes flickering past Ichigo to Urahara. "She still remembers Jinta and Ururu, unless I'm mistaken."

"That seems like a rather dangerous idea," Urahara's replied evenly. "Isshin is already unstable."

"I won't leave her there." Karin's eyes snapped to Urahara. "Not with _him_."

"It's not safe," Ichigo muttered, thoughts of Ururu's crumpled body fresh in his mind.

"He would never harm your sisters," Urahara murmured softly, trying to forestall what he knew was coming.

"You can't know that, not with the way he's been lately." He was looking at him with those haunted eyes. "I have to protect her, Kisuke."

"Ichigo…" Pale brows drew together as he stroked a thumb over the younger man's cheekbone.

He sighed.

"At least take the time to consider it," he pleaded softly. "There are some decisions that there is no going back from, and I fear this is one of them."

"He tried to kill you." Ichigo's tone was hard. "I don't know what he's capable of anymore."

Urahara felt a sad resignation setting deep inside of him. "At least consider it before you do anything rash?"

Ichigo reluctantly agreed, though it was fairly clear that his mind was set. Urahara brushed his thumb once more down the slope of his cheek before turning back to the others.

"Well this has certainly been an eventful morning." He couldn't quite manage the proper tone. "I'm going to see if Tessai is up to a little healing for Ichigo and I, and then I have a few errands to run."

He rose fluidly, pushing his hair back and straightening his robe. He looked around the table at all of them, his eyes lingering on Ichigo for a moment longer before making his way into the hall.

**(*)**

"Thank you so much for seeing him." The petite woman tucked the blanket a little tighter around her baby before glancing up at Isshin. "I wouldn't have called if didn't think it was important."

"It's not a problem," Isshin assured her, walking them to the clinic entrance. "I'm always available for emergencies."

The woman smiled up at him. "I wish it had been a more opportune time, I feel like I've disrupted your weekend."

Isshin smiled back, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt. "You didn't interrupt anything; I was just clearing up old paperwork. If anything, you helped to relieve the monotony."

She laughed easily and continued chatter until they reached the door. She thanked him once more with another cheerful smile before stepping out into the morning sun. He watched the door close behind her, his smile breaking away like brittle glass as he ran a hand through his hair, the weariness throbbing in his bones.

He turned, letting his feet carry him back towards his office, staring blankly at the passing walls as he wallowed in his own internal chaos. He nudged the door closed behind him, not caring if it latched as he made his way to his desk, pressing his palms flat against the wood. He remained standing, looking down at his hands, overwhelmed with the sudden urge to break everything within reach until the real world resembled the madness in his head. His fingers twitched against the wood.

"You've looked better, Isshin." A voice spoke form the corner and he spun to find Urahara lounging in a chair, looking deceptively casual but for the way he was spinning Benihime against the floor.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Isshin spat, his nails digging into his palms.

"I was in the area," Urahara replied lightly, regarding him with cool interest. "I thought I might check up on you, seeing as our last conversation ended rather abruptly."

"I've had enough of your bullshit," Isshin gritted his teeth, "What do you want?"

He sighed, tugging his hat lower over his eyes. "I want you to stop antagonizing your son before something regrettable happens."

"Is that what you think I'm trying to do?" Isshin snapped, his knuckles going white. "You think I'm trying to _antagonize_ him?"

"No," he replied softly, his eyes unreadable. "I understand what you're _trying_ to do; I'm simply pointing out what you're _actually_ accomplishing."

"Well, I'm not going to just sit back and watch you drag him down, if that's what you're hoping for." Isshin's voice was hard, his cheeks flushed with anger. "He's my son, Kisuke, not some fucking game."

"I'm aware of that, Isshin, but this isn't the way to handle things." The steady tone taking on an edge.

"You think I'm going to take advice from you?" Isshin bit out, his voice rising, "I don't need _you _telling me how to take care of my son."

"He would have killed you yesterday." Urahara's voice was flat, his eyes biting and hard. "I know you can't see it, but you're making things worse."

"You're the one who's got him all twisted in knots," Isshin snarled, the memory of the black eyes still burned in his mind. "I'm looking out for him when no one else will."

"No, you're pushing him towards an edge that he might not come back from," Urahara countered, still quiet but razor sharp. "You need to consider a different approach."

"Stop trying to sound like you give a fuck, you've never been interested in anyone but yourself." Isshin face was red, his reiatsu stifling in the small room.

"Are you implying that I don't care about Ichigo?" His voice was dangerous, hanging heavy between them.

"I'm implying that you're using my son as a fuck-toy while he's losing his mind." Isshin took a step forward, his anger pulsing like a physical thing.

"I would be careful about questioning his sanity." His eyes were ice, not even acknowledging the threat. "Someone could get the wrong impression."

"_The wrong impression_?" Isshin's lip pulled back in a snarl. "You've got his mind so warped that he would actually _kill_ his own father for you!"

"You attacked a child in front of him," Urahara snapped, the first fracture in his calm facade. "You had people hold him down while he watched her bleed. Can you even imagine what that did to him? Do you have any idea what he's _seen_?"

"That was an accident," Isshin shouted, his rage and guilt a sickening lump in his gut. "She would never have been in the way if it wasn't for you."

"It doesn't matter," Urahara shook off the excuse, a sharp breath hissing through his nose. "You can't fight him into submission, he's going to respond with violence because it's all he knows how to do."

"He's just a fucking kid, Kisuke. He could still have a chance if you'd just leave him alone." Isshin's reiatsu was screaming and Urahara twitched Benihime in reminder.

"A chance for what?" he demanded, the muscle jumping in his jaw. "He's never going to be normal, not in the way you want him to be, and he's never going to be a kid again, either. He's torn between so many worlds that he'll never fit into one of them completely, not in the way he used to. He's a soldier; a hero who saved countless lives and took countless more, nothing will ever take away the memory of what he's endured. You may be right about him being very young, but he has faced decisions that you can't even imagine, done things that the rest of us can't even understand. He's one of the most powerful creatures that Soul Society has ever seen, and all he ever wanted from that power was to protect the people he cared about. He could have had _anything_, but all he wanted was to keep people safe, which was the only thing he _couldn't_ do and so now he wears his guilt like a badge to remind himself how he failed."

Isshin mouth started to open, angry and hateful, but Urahara overrode him.

"People have been looking to him as _savior_ since he was fifteen years old, and he played the part willingly because there was no one else that could. Older, harder men would have broken long ago under the weight of what he's had to carry, but he survived because he had to, because he wouldn't let himself fail. There's no going back after that, there's no button he can press to make his life like it was, to make everything soft again. He's still figuring out who he is now, and all you're doing is reminding him of the things that are holding him down."

He trailed off, his heart pounding painfully as his eyes pleaded with the larger man to understand, though he could tell by the hard look that it wasn't getting through.

"So you saw this _boy_ with all of these horrible problems, with all of this pain and guilt that was tearing him apart, and you decided to offer him a place on your _cock_ while he was trying to _find himself_." Isshin sneered, twisted and ugly, and Urahara had to bite back the urge to strike him for his stupidity.

"I offered him everything I had to give," he bit out, the old fatigue settling over him.

"Only you could make fucking an emotionally scarred teenager sound like a noble act." Isshin voice was nasty and dark.

"I'm not here to explain myself," Urahara snapped, realizing it was a lost cause.

"Is he a good fuck, Kisuke?" Isshin wasn't listening anymore, lost in seething hatred. "Does it make you feel better about yourself when he looks at you with those lost, broken eyes? Does it make you feel like you're in control when he's begging you for help and you tell him you can fuck away his pain?" His face twisted, horrible and unrecognizable. "Is it worth tearing away that last part of his soul just so you can hear him scream for you?"

Urahara felt white hot anger searing along his bones and realized he was on his feet.

"Fuck you," he growled, his knuckles white on Benihime's, the hilt cutting into his palm until he felt a trickle of blood roll down.

"What's the matter, Kisuke, where's that famous calm?" Isshin taunted, moving towards him with burning eyes. "Can't take being called on your own bullshit?"

Urahara forced his teeth together, feeling them grind as his body shook. The blood pounding in his ears, wanted nothing more than to lash out, to crush him until that hateful sneer was lost in the twisted ruin of his face. He shook his head, trying to remember why he was here.

"Finally run out of words?" Isshin was closer now, dark and furious.

Urahara clamped down on his emotions, forcing them into that battered little cage he'd formed during the war. Ichigo was in danger and that had to come first, there would be time for the rest of the world later.

He drew a shaky breath, struggling to unclench his jaw. "I know what kind of guilt you're carrying, Isshin, and I'm not going to play your games with you."

"_Game?_" Isshin was still stalking forward, his voice thundering against the walls. "This is my son's life we're talking about."

"No, this is about you." Urahara snapped at him, the rage still tugging at its chains. "You can't help anyone while you're hiding from your own guilt and fear. All you're doing is making your problems into his, and he doesn't need any more."

"You don't know anything about what I'm feeling, or what I'm trying to do," Isshin screamed.

"I know that if you keep following this path, you're going to die alone and despised." Urahara's voice was sharp as glass.

Isshin's fist flew; spit spraying from his mouth as his growl tore free. Urahara stood his ground, feeling the crunch of bone against bone, letting his head snap under the impact to keep his jaw from breaking. He stumbled slightly, bracing his hand against the wall, raising Benihime to ward off another blow.

"Stay away from my family, you son of a bitch." Isshin looked wild, fear and insanity staining his features.

"I'm not taking your family, Isshin." Urahara bit out coldly, reached up to press his fingers to the already forming bruise. "I'm just catching the pieces when you drive them away."

Isshin looked ready to hit him again, but his eyes flickered to Benihime , realizing the next one wouldn't be free.

"I'm not interested in fighting you." Urahara's anger was fading, choking on the deep sense of futility and hurt. "Enough lives have been lost and families torn apart, I don't need any more blood on my hands."

"Then why did you come here?" Isshin demanded, his tone lashing out like his hands could not.

"You've drawn Soul Society's attention to Ichigo," he informed him, forcing him back as he pushed away from the wall. "All the good intentions in the world aren't going to save him if they decide he's a threat. If you continue to push him you'll drive him to a place where no one can reach him and they'll be forced to take action. You need to think about that while there's still an opportunity to do something about it."

He turned, pulling the door open, ignoring the thunderstruck look rooting Isshin in place.

"So what am I supposed to do?" Isshin shouted, finally finding his voice amidst the rising fear.

"I don't know." Urahara paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder with sad, tired eyes. "If I had the answers I would have made it right a long time ago."

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Urahara thought that he might have seen the first signs of real thought, though it could just as easily have been wishful thinking.

"I have no desire to see you in pain, Isshin, regardless of how you may feel towards me." He sighed sadly, stepping into the hall. "Please think about what I've said."

**(*)**

Isshin sat at the table, unmoving as he stared into the surface he'd memorized over the past two hours. He'd retreated to the familiar comfort of the kitchen, no longer able to concentrate on work as Urahara's words continued to haunt him. He hadn't seen Yuzu since that morning; she'd been unusually subdued in her sister's absence, despite a reassuring phone call explaining the need to remain at a friend's house. He didn't mind, he was glad for the silence as he thought about his carefully constructed world that was falling around his feet.

He could still see Ichigo looking at him with those hate filled eyes, flinging his blood to splatter hot against his face. There had been no sympathy there, no softness, just the brutal, glittering intent of a man who had cut down a hundred enemies without hesitation and now found himself facing another. It was no longer Ichigo, not in the way he remembered him, it was someone he didn't even know.

He remembered Karin standing between them; delicate hands wrapped around that deadly blade as she held him back, screaming with flashing eyes. There had been no uncertainty in her, not even a backwards glance as she raised a sword to her father in defense of the brother she loved more than life. Isshin realized, with a slipping sort of coldness, that she'd never even viewed it as a decision, where Ichigo went she would go. She would make her stand wherever he drew his blade, without question, without regret.

The sound of a door closing drew his attention and he looked up, surprised at the odd assortment of people filing into the room. He'd expected Karin, because Yuzu had told him of her intended return, and he had known Ichigo would accompany her because that was the nature of their bond. The fact that Kon was there, still wearing Ichigo's body wasn't too much of a stretch, because Ichigo would no doubt want Zangetsu close at hand. What he hadn't been expecting, though, was for Karin to be flanked by Jinta, eyes hooded and cold, and another white haired boy in dark jeans, who looked disturbingly familiar.

Isshin rose slowly and Ichigo tensed, ready for any sign of hostility. He made his way around the table, stopping a good distance away from the solemn group. He looked between them, feeling an odd stirring of trepidation and uncertainty.

"We need to talk about yesterday," he said slowly, turning his attention to Ichigo.

"I'm not interested," Ichigo bit out, giving him a look cold enough to freeze his blood. "We're just here to get a few things, so stay out of the way."

"What do you mean?" Isshin's eyes flickered between them, "Where are you going?"

Ichigo let out a bark of laughter, a hard, cutting sound. "Do you really think I'm just going to march home like a good little boy after all that?"

Where the usual anger would of risen Isshin felt only the cold stirring of fear. "I think I need to explain-"

"He said we're not interested, so just shut the fuck up," Karin cut him off, her voice vicious and angry. "We're just here for Yuzu."

"You can't do that." Isshin paled, turning back to Ichigo. "You can't just take your sisters."

"I'm looking out for them, just like you wanted," Ichigo sneered. "There's no way I'm staying here and I'm sure as fuck not leaving them alone with _you_."

Isshin's heart constricted. "You think I would hurt them?" His voice was shaking.

"I don't know anymore." Ichigo's tone was coldly indifferent. "And I'm sure as hell not going to wait around to find out."

"That's crazy." Isshin felt a sickening lurch. "I won't let you do this."

"It's not up to you," Karin snarled, "This is all your fault. You couldn't make me stay here if you tried."

Ichigo put a hand on her shoulder, the other reaching up to curl around Zangetsu's hilt, "Just fuck off already."

"You can't do this to them." Isshin felt his panic stir the tendrils of his earlier anger. "You can't take care of two thirteen year olds; you don't have any way to support them."

"Do I look like I'm planning to live on the fucking street?" Ichigo voice was dripping with distain. "I'm taking them to Kisuke's, he has plenty of room."

"No." The word was little more than a breath, escaping without his consent.

_'I'm just catching the pieces when you drive them away._' The words were burned into his memory and he shook at the thought of Urahara taking his family, taking everything that mattered to him.

"This has gone too far, Ichigo, you can't do this." His eyes were flashing with a dangerous light.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Ichigo seethed bitterly. "This passed _too far_ a long time ago." He turned to Karin. "Go get Yuzu and your things, I'll stay here."

Kon laid a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want anything specific?"

"No," he didn't bother to look at him, "Just get a couple of uniforms and whatever you feel like wearing, I don't care."

Kon removed his hand and ushered Karin from the room, Jinta trailing a couple of steps behind, though Hitsugaya remained with Ichigo.

Isshin's hands were trembling as he watched them go, turning back to Ichigo with growing anger. "You may not care who you hurt anymore, but I do," he growled. "You're out of control, and I won't let you drag your sisters down with you."

"_I'm_ out of control?" Ichigo eyed him with cold incredulity. "_You_ can't go five minutes without screaming bullshit at people, or storming into other people's houses, or hurting little girls. For fuck sake, you were trying to kill Kisuke right in front of me and you think you have the right to say _I'm_ out of control."

"I didn't go there to kill him, we just wanted to talk to you." Isshin's voice was snapping despite his best efforts to remain quiet.

"That's a pretty fucked up way to have a conversation," Ichigo sneered, his face contorting with anger.

"What did you expect me to do?" Isshin voice was rising, his reiatsu curling around their feet. "It's not like you left me any other options."

"What the fuck kind of option is that?" Ichigo's lip curled back. "You tried to _kill_ someone!"

"I was doing what I thought was right," Isshin snapped. "I was _trying_ to protect you."

"So you're gonna kill all the nasty men in the world and make it all better." Ichigo barked out that cruel laugh again. "Is this daddy coming to carry me away on his fucking white horse?"

There was a brief pause, a boiling, angry silence as Isshin reeled under the weight of the bitterness pouring from his son. Ichigo felt sick just looking at him, watching the warped justifications pouring from his pathetic mouth.

"What do you know anyway, you fucking self-righteous bastard?" The cold edge was creeping back into his tone, a biting sting to the slowly simmering rage. "Do you think that killing is easier just because you have some sort of shitty morality on your side, because you think it's the _right_ thing to do?" His eyes were burning. "It's not a fucking badge you can pin on that makes everything okay, you know. You can't just tuck your _good intentions_ under your pillow at night so that you don't have to see the screaming faces and taste the fucking blood pouring down your throat."

He took a step forward, his reiatsu coiling tight and dangerous as he stared at Isshin with dead, silver eyes.

"You had your chance to go out and _protect_ all of this shit that you claim to care about, and you fucking ran away. You fucking let everyone else go off and _fight_, and _bleed_, and _die_ so that you could stand back and preach your fucking bullshit like you have a clue what really happened. "

He was shaking, his chest constricting painfully around his heart, tinting the world in shades of grey. His blood was pounding, calling out for someone to hurt, screaming with the voices of a thousand anguished memories buried safe within his soul. Isshin was staring at him, his lips forming on whatever lofty ideal he thought was going to magically erase the feel of Yachiru's cold body pressing against his chest; the sick slide of Rukia's fingers as they fell through his for the last time; the blood trailing from the corner of Juushirou's eyes, staring sightlessly up at him. Ichigo felt the dizzy twist of nausea lurching in his stomach.

He didn't realize he was moving until he felt a hand on him and he spun, ready to tear and break and crush until the screams in his ears matched the ones in his head. Green eyes bored hard into him, and through the haze he realized that it was Hitsugaya, not Isshin who had touched him. A hand lay against his chest, not grabbing or restraining, just resting in a nonthreatening gesture. He stared down, seeing the twisted understanding in that gaze, reading the fear and pain and fury buried so deep that he could feel the fingers trembling where they lay. He forced his fist to uncurl; releasing the shirt that he didn't remember grabbing and watching him sink a couple of inches back to the floor. He didn't apologize, just turned away, dazed and confused.

Isshin had finally stopped speaking, his lips slightly parted as if the words had simply died, leaving him stranded in horrible silence. He stared between the two boys, his anger tempered by a knot of rising dread. Ichigo stared back, his eyes distant and unfeeling, cold chips of ice regarding him without a hint of affection.

The other one, who Isshin had finally recognized as a Shinigami captain, was idly rubbing his throat, his face carefully neutral as he looked towards the stairs to where Kon was lounging against the wall. The mod soul cocked his head to one side, running his eyes over the three of them before disappearing back upstairs.

"You're not worth the effort that people put into saving you." Ichigo's voice held a brutal finality and Isshin belatedly recognized the truth behind Urahara's words.

He had pushed his son so far beyond his reach that nothing he could say would ever make a difference. This wasn't the surly, rebellious boy that had torn recklessly off to Soul Society in pursuit of a friend three years ago. This wasn't the angry kid who had run his mouth, and screamed, and raged because he thought that someone was being unfair, or because he wasn't getting his way. This was the man who had stared at him without mercy, who would have killed him without hesitation for daring to harm those with whom he'd walked through hell. This was Urahara's Ichigo, not his.

"Ichigo-"

"Don't make a scene or this is the last time you'll see any of us." Ichigo's voice was rigid as he cut him off, turning towards the stairs as Kon rematerialized. He was chatting easily with Yuzu and Karin like it was any other day, and Ichigo had to admire his ability to lie so easily.

Hitsugaya swung one last look between Isshin and Ichigo before stepping away to take a bag from Karin, smiling politely as he was reintroduced to her sister.

"Isn't it exciting, daddy, I haven't seen Jinta and Ururu in sooo long." Yuzu skipped unseeing past her Shinigami brother, babbling happily. "Karin told me about you having to go to that conference, why didn't you tell me? I would have made you a lunch for the train if I'd known."

Isshin seemed frozen in place but it didn't matter because Kon cracked a joke about old men and memories, laughing uproariously, his eyes hard as flint. Yuzu giggled into her hand, looping her arm with Karin who had pulled out her own tainted smile.

"I know we could stay here, but this way it's like an adventure and Karin can finish her project with Jinta, and I can go shopping with Ururu." Yuzu was still smiling. "Besides, Ichi-nii always grumbles about having to stay at home while you're gone." She pouted at Kon and he ruffled her hair affectionately.

"I told you I have stuff to do." He rolled his eyes. "And this way you can see your friends."

She laughed again, and Karin pulled her towards the door, engaging in a lively banter with Jinta and Hitsugaya to keep her distracted. Isshin started to follow, started to call out after them but Ichigo stepped in front of him, his reiatsu crackling in warning.

"Bye pops." Karin shot a hard look back while Jinta blushed at something Yuzu said.

"Oh, bye daddy." Yuzu gave him a sparkling smile. "Have fun on your trip."

Karin pulled her around again and then they were gone, out the door and into the sun like nothing was wrong. Isshin didn't know what to do; he couldn't lash out at Ichigo without exposing the others to the resulting explosion. He couldn't run out the door and pull Yuzu back because she wouldn't understand even if he managed to pry her away from her sister.

"You can't do this," he repeated brokenly, staring into those eyes that didn't seem to know him.

Something flickered in the depths of Ichigo's gaze, a brief shudder of sadness and something else before the indifference settled back into place. "Stay the fuck away from the shop."

He turned away, pacing to where Kon still waited.

"I heard about the Shinigami investigation," Isshin called after him, looking for anything to keep him from walking out the door.

Ichigo faltered, turning to face him with narrowing eyes. "How did you hear about that?"

"I…" Isshin clenched his jaw, realizing far too late the role he'd played in this. "You have to believe that I didn't mean for this to happen."

Ichigo ignored the words as he recognized the most likely source of the information. He felt a small thrill of worry; he hadn't seen Urahara since he'd gone out on his _errands _earlier that morning. He spun again, ignoring the voice that called after him as he stalked away from what had once been his home.

**(*)**

It was almost evening when Ichigo found Urahara sitting in a densely wooded area of an overgrown park, watching the sun set between the trees. He'd gotten his sisters settled before heading out to search for the former captain, worry gnawing at the back of his mind. The task had not been easy; Urahara suppressed his reiatsu as his natural state, a habit born from both the war and his prior period of exile. It had taken hours until he finally drifted close enough to feel the whisper of him on the gently flowing breeze.

He was sitting cross-legged in a slight clearing, slouched over and spinning his hat slowly between his fingers. He looked up as Ichigo approached, his lips lifting in a faint, wistful smile of acknowledgment. There was a dark smudge along the left side of his jaw, a vivid, angry marring of the otherwise flawless skin. Ichigo's eyes narrowed as he crouched beside him.

"That fucking bastard." His voice was sharp but his fingers were gentle as he reached out to ghost across the bruise.

"I ran into a door," Urahara murmured softly, giving him another faint smile. "Horribly clumsy of me."

"That's not funny," Ichigo growled, giving him a hard look.

"Yes it is," the blond assured him, reaching up to catch his wrist, pulling it away from the tender flesh.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Ichigo fell forward onto his knees, worry making him sound angrier than he really was.

Urahara tugged on the wrist and Ichigo allowed himself to be dragged into his lap, resting his forehead against the curve of the pale neck as arms closed around him.

"It doesn't matter." The words were sad and quiet against his hair.

Ichigo recognized the tone and knew he didn't want to talk about it so he let it drop, nuzzling a little deeper into his neck. He felt fingers run up his spine, traveling through his hair as the other arm tightened around him. He sighed softly into the skin.

He shifted again after a moment, working around until he was straddling the blond, bringing them face to face. The arms resettled around him and he raised a hand up to brush the tendrils of hair from the other man's cheek. Soft lips curved slightly as Urahara leaned into the touch, exhaling some of the tension from his body.

"I thought we were going to stop doing stupid shit," Ichigo reminded him, his other hand tracing the bruise again.

"I believe that only applied to you," Urahara pointed out, his tone soft and dry as he winced under the touch. "I'm not the one prone to sweeping displays of melodrama."

"You're such a smartass lately," Ichigo murmured, a soft frown still marring his brow.

"You're just paying closer attention," the other man countered, sounding a little more like himself.

Ichigo snorted softly, ignoring the hiss of pain as he cupped the side of his face. Urahara reached up, gripping the wrist but didn't pull him away as he saw Ichigo's eyes slip shut, lips moving as he muttered something under his breath. His reiatsu rose around them and Urahara bit back a grunt as he felt the burn of slightly unstable kidou ripple over his skin.

Ichigo's lashes stirred and Urahara caught the faintest hint of a glow before the tingle faded. Lips parted slightly as Ichigo exhaled, his eyes drifting open slowly. He pressed his fingers a little deeper and Urahara noted, with some degree of astonishment, that the pain seemed to have receded. He rotated his jaw and found it only marginally uncomfortable to do so.

"I believe we had a discussion about untrained kidou experimentation." His eyebrow twitched subtly.

"Ingrate." Ichigo leaned in, his lips brushing over the curve of his jaw.

He slid forward, trailing soft, apologetic kisses over the slightly discolored skin. He knew it was his fault that Urahara had been hurt, even if the other man would never blame him.

"I'm sorry." The words stirred against pale skin as Ichigo dropped his head onto his shoulder. "It wasn't fair of me to fuck up your life like this."

Urahara's eyes slid closed as he pulled him closer, cradling the smaller body against him and resting his cheek in his hair.

"It's not your fault," he sighed. "My life was complicated long before you showed up."

"But I'm making it worse," Ichigo murmured and Urahara felt arms sliding around him.

"No, you're just making it different." He reached up to stroke the back of the younger man's neck, trying to relieve some of the tension settling there.

Ichigo turned his head, his lips brushing over sensitive skin as he spoke. "I took Yuzu," he admitted softly.

"I know." Urahara felt a rolling sadness settle into his chest.

"I couldn't leave her there," he whispered, his voice old and worn.

"I know," Urahara repeated, rubbing his cheek against the hair.

"I didn't think it would be like that." He shifted a little against the embrace, slow, agitated movements.

"Like what?" the blond coaxed, still nuzzling him gently.

"I thought he'd scream and fight, you know, and for awhile he did, but then…" He paused, like he was trying to find a way to voice his chaotic thoughts. "He had that look people get when they're dying, the part where the light just fades out and they know that nothing can save them. He just stood there, like I was killing him, shaking and looking at me with those dying eyes, those begging, hurt eyes. "

Urahara's lashes felt shut, the sadness throbbing a little deeper.

"I thought it would be easier," he sounded confused, his voice almost lost in the still air.

He fell silent again as though he didn't know what should have been easier, or what had failed to make it so.

"I was so angry," Ichigo whispered disjointedly, the threads of memory tangling together in a jumbled mess. "I felt like everything was closing in around me. I almost hurt Toushirou just for touching me."

"What happened?" Urahara tensed slightly, rubbing slow circles against his back.

"I don't even know," Ichigo sounded so lost. "Everything was just wrong for a second; my heart was pounding and all this crazy shit was flashing around in my head...the next thing I know I had a hold of his shirt and he was just staring up at me. Gods, he had this look on his face, it was just… he was just looking at me, and it was like I didn't know who he was, and then I did but it was all fucked up. I don't even remember grabbing him, I just remember… I just wanted to make him hurt, I wanted someone to suffer. I just wanted to hurt him until I…until…fuck."

Ichigo shuddered and Urahara turned, pressing a kiss against the side of his head, trying not to let his worry show. "It's okay, you _didn't_ hurt him and that's what matters."

"It's not okay." Ichigo's voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear it, and there was another pause. "What if I really _am_ losing it?"

"You're not." Urahara nudged him gently, pressing him back until their eyes met. "It's just the stress."

Ichigo's face seems to crumble under the weight of everything pressing in.

"What if I'm dangerous?" His eyes held such haunting agony.

Urahara felt something ripping in his chest, a hopeless, useless frustration that squeezed around his heart. He ached to reach inside Ichigo and tear away the things that were dragging him down, twisting the life out of him. He would have given anything not to see the doubt and grief smothering the fire that had once burned so bright inside him. People like Ichigo shouldn't have to suffer like this, shouldn't have to carry the weight of so many lives, and sorrows, and tortured memories.

Urahara leaned forward and kissed him softly, tasting the pain on his lips. "That's not who you are."

"I don't know who I am anymore, Kisuke." His barriers had all fallen away, the grief and fear swimming so close to the surface that Urahara thought he might drown.

He brought up his hands to frame his face, thumbs stroking over the soft skin as if to soothe away all the things he'd seen, the things he'd done.

"I know who you are," he breathed, feeling the body shiver against him, leaning in to kiss him again.

It was a soft gesture, unhurried and without force, a gentle glow reaching out in the darkness. His hands slid to Ichigo's neck, tracing along his jaw and down his throat to where the life pulsed faintly beneath his skin. Ichigo shivered again, his breath hitching soft and painful as he reached out hesitantly with his tongue. Urahara's lips parted, coaxing him in, tasting the uncertainty, the infinite anguish that he wished he could breathe into himself through the softly trembling kiss.

"You're beautiful," he whispered against those bittersweet lips, the words tumbling free without knowledge or consent.

Ichigo made a soft noise, a choking, broken gasp that brushed hot against his mouth as they came back together. Their tongues slid with aching slowness, speaking of things that were too dark and damaged to ever put into words. Urahara's arms slid around him again, holding him close, sheltering him from the world that had already taken so much.

Ichigo's hands slipped up his chest, fingers shaking slightly as they clenched over his heart. He made a soft whimpering noise in the back of his throat, pressing deeper into the kiss, pouring himself into it like it was his last chance for redemption. The fingers drifted lower, fumbling with the knotted ties, pulling back the cloth to trace over the soft skin beneath.

Urahara shifted under the touch, untangling his arms as Ichigo pushed the shirt away onto the grass. There were no arguments on his lips, no guilt echoing in the back of his thoughts; in that moment he would have given Ichigo anything he asked without hesitation or question.

Ichigo's mouth slid sideways, trailing back over the marred skin of his jaw, slipping further to ghost over the curve of his ear. Urahara leaned into the touch, pale fingers pulling the ties at the lean waist until they fell away. He pealed back the layers of the kimono, pushing beneath them to run his hands over the gentle ridges of his spine. Ichigo leaned forward, skin pressing against naked skin as he continued his slow decent along the sweep of the arching neck. He pulled back, seeking out the green-grey gaze, eyes dark with turbulent thoughts.

Urahara withdrew a hand, reaching up to cup his jaw as he kissed him again. He tipped Ichigo's head back; lips sliding over the pointed chin and down to suckle the delicate rise of his collarbone. Ichigo let out a shuddering sigh and Urahara slipped his kimono down over one shoulder, following the path with his mouth. Dark lashes fluttered softly as the younger man arched against him, lips parting as a tongue slipped out to taste him.

Ichigo's fingers closed on a peach colored nipple, rolling it lightly as Urahara hissed against his neck. Soft hair tickled his skin and he buried his other hand in the blond locks, holding him closer as the lips moved along his throat. Long fingers were trailing down his spine, splaying across his back and he rocked forward into the hardness pressing against him.

Urahara groaned softly, pulling him closer, sliding against him through their remaining clothes. He reached down, teasing Ichigo's nipple in return, finally pulling a low moan from slightly parted lips. He dipped lower, tracing the curve of his ribs, the ridges of the stomach that twitched under his fingers. He came to the edge of Ichigo's hakama and felt him exhale sharply against his hair, hips twitching in anticipation and need.

"Please..." The sound was little more than a breeze stirring the shell of Urahara's ear, but it carried so many emotions that it curled in his chest.

He unwound the ties with practiced fingers, feeling a tongue tracing his earlobe, faltering slightly when the warm mouth closed over it. He reached inside; brushing Ichigo through the confines of his fundoshi and felt a shiver run through the smaller body. He pulled the remaining cloth loose, wrapping his hand around his arousal and stroking him with deliberate grace.

Ichigo rose against him, releasing his ear as another broken moan tore from his throat. He threw back his head, thrusting onto the fist, grinding against Urahara and drawing a groan of response. The blond leaned forward, sucking at the exposed flesh of his throat, rolling his hips against the slowly twisting body in his lap.

He felt a hand close over the fingers rolling a dusky nipple and drew back to find Ichigo watching him with heavily lidded eyes. Urahara leaned forward, sliding his tongue through the softly panting lips, inhaling the gasps and hitched breaths as he continued to pump him slowly. His thumb curled up, sliding over his slit, catching some of the liquid to smear across the tender flesh. Ichigo bucked hard, shuddering against him as he groaned into his mouth.

"Kisuke…" He felt a shiver run through him, just like it always did when his name fell from those lips in that thick and heavy tone.

Ichigo's hand slid to his wrist, pulling it higher as he broke away from the kiss. He turned his head drawing three fingers into his mouth, sucking them gently before rolling them with his tongue. Urahara groaned, curling one finger slightly to slide against the moist caress. Ichigo released the fingers, seeking out his gaze, soft brows drawn together on a silent plea as he pushed the hand lower.

Urahara leaned forward, nuzzling against his cheek as he brushed the already loosened hakama aside and pressed down to tease his puckered opening. Ichigo drew a shuddering breath, lost in gentle probing and in the hand still moving languidly over his weeping arousal. One finger slipped inside and he hissed out a moan, still a little sore from not having used their normal lube the night before. He felt Urahara hesitate and rocked back slowly, biting his lip as he impaled himself on the slick digit, begging him to move.

The blond pushed into him slowly, twisting as the body relaxed around him, and felt Ichigo's groan stirring against his hair. He added a second finger, drawing a gasp, trailing soft kisses along his jaw as he continued to stretch him open. He curled his fingers and had to release Ichigo's cock to steady his hips as he jerked forward with a sharp cry. Ichigo rose on his knees, pressing himself to the other body, riding the fingers with soft little sounds.

A nipple hovered tantalizingly in front of his face and Urahara leaned forward, tracing it with his tongue as Ichigo writhed against him. A third finger joined the others and Ichigo threw his head back, panting out his moans, his cock sliding between their bodies with the most delicious friction.

"Gods, Kisuke…" His voice was almost reverent, spoken to the sky as his eyes drifted closed.

Urahara released the nipple, mesmerized by the flush creeping into his cheeks, the way his teeth caught his lip as he rose and fell softly. As if sensing the stare Ichigo's head tipped down, lashes swept low over lust dark eyes. He reached out, tangling a hand in the pale hair, gasping as the fingers sent another spark of pleasure through him. The hand on Ichigo's hip slid away, trailing up beneath his fluttering kimono as Urahara continued to stare transfixed.

The fingers were withdrawn and Urahara leaned forward, supporting the smaller frame as he lowered him into the grass. Ichigo stared up at him, one hand still tangled in his hair, lips swollen and glistening in the nearly gone light. Lean hips arched off the ground as long fingers stripped away his hakama, exposing him to the gentle breezes swirling around them. Urahara trembled slightly as he reached for the ties on his own pants, pulling them free while he stared down into that glittering gaze.

He crawled over Ichigo, kissing his way up the twisting body to catch his lips in a slow, deep kiss. Arms slid around his back and knees drew up beside him as Ichigo pulled him closer, hips thrusting in a gentle, unconscious rhythm. Urahara pulled away, coating himself with saliva before settling back over the trembling body. Ichigo moaned softly, squirming at the pressure nudging his entrance, trying to draw him in. Urahara leaned closer, running his knuckles over a flushed cheek as he rocked his hips forward in slow, shallow thrusts.

Ichigo bit his lip, hissing as his body was breached, relaxing against the slow intrusion. Urahara leaned down, licking the lip from between his teeth, his groan stirring with Ichigo's hitched breath as he finally slid to the hilt. He inched out and rolled forward again, catching Ichigo's gasp on his tongue, bracing his elbows beside his head as their lips moved together. Long legs slipped further up his body and the younger man arched up into the next thrust, his head falling back as the pleasure simmered through him.

"That…uhhh… so good…" Ichigo murmured, trembling beneath him as he continued to move with long, slow strokes.

Urahara groaned his agreement against the damp neck, lapping at his fluttering pulse. Ichigo panted, bucking against him, moaning soft, senseless curses as Urahara kissed a gasping trail along the curve of his throat. Ichigo's hand dropped lower, resting against the small of his back, pulling him closer as their tempo increased. They moved together effortlessly, practiced and unhurried, untouched by the world passing around them.

"Gods, Ichigo…" Urahara whispered, pulling back to watch him as he continued to writhe.

He could feel the need rising as he gripped Ichigo's hips, angling him better against the next deep thrust. The younger man cried out, arching against the grass, dark lashes sweeping closed against the flush of his cheeks. Urahara was burning, the heat coiling tight, fueled by the pulsing body and the erotic scene before him. He licked his palm and reached between them, curling around Ichigo's neglected cock. The younger man cried out again, his body clenching tight, pulling an answering cry as Urahara thrust harder.

"Oh, Kisuke…gods…" Ichigo was moaning as he rocked against him, riding the pleasure as it started to peak. "…please, Kisuke."

Urahara groaned, driving deeper, pushing Ichigo towards the release he so desperately needed. He could feel the tremors starting to flutter as he increased his pace, grinding hard into that sweet spot that had Ichigo screaming. He twisted his fingers around the straining cock, feeling the body wind tight beneath him.

"Come for me." he panted, broken and rough, and felt Ichigo stiffen instantly with a final, drawn out moan.

He drove into him again, groaning as the young body constricted around him, the release pulsing over his hand as Ichigo fell apart. He continued to stroke him, drawing out the orgasm, watching his face as his own release took him. Ichigo shuddered and he leaned forward, catching those gasping lips, groaning his name as he poured into the welcoming body. He collapsed, crushing him into the ground, kissing him deeply as the tremors wracked their frames. Ichigo's arms slipped around him, pulling him closer, returning the kiss with slow intensity.

The blond pulled back, staring down at those dark eyes still hazed with the afterglow of pleasure. The anguish remained, buried deep beneath the surface, but it had loosened, relinquishing its stranglehold on his soul. Urahara smiled softly, kissing him again before inching out of him slowly, groaning at the tight slide over sensitive flesh. He started to roll away, but Ichigo's arms tensed around him, holding him in place. He relented, shifting his weight to one side and resting his head against the damp curve of his throat. He sighed, running his fingers over the cooling skin.

The silence stretched between them as they lay under the darkening sky, tangled together and mostly naked in the grass. Urahara trailed soft, slow kisses up Ichigo's neck, trying to soothing away the worry still lingering on his face. The arms around him shifted and he pulled back, lifting his head to stare down at the younger man.

"Are you alright?" His voice was soft, his lips hovering just inches from the ones below.

"I'm sorry about this," Ichigo sighed, his breath stirring warm between them.

A pale brow twitched subtly and his lips twisted. "You know, you shouldn't apologize after sex, it sends the wrong impression."

Ichigo stared up at him for a second before the corner of his mouth began to pull. "Fucking smartass."

Urahara's smile grew and he leaned down to nuzzle his cheek. Ichigo reached out to brush his hair back as he pulled away, still smirking faintly but looking more serious.

"What happens if they decide I'm dangerous?" he asked softly, not quite meeting his eyes as he continued to stroke through the pale blond locks.

"It won't happen," Urahara assured him, brushing their noses together.

"You're the one who said they're paranoid." Ichigo finally raised his eyes, looking solemn and reflective. "What if they come for me because they're afraid of what I _might_ do?"

Urahara stared down at him for a moment, watching the emotions swirl in his unmasked gaze. He felt a surge of anger towards anyone who would put Ichigo in that position, anyone who would ever think that of him. He traced his knuckles across his cheek, his eyes hardening under his resolve.

"I would never let it happen," he told him softly, his voice so laced with conviction that Ichigo could do nothing but believe him.

The arms tightened and Urahara went easily into the embrace, wrapping around him, protecting him from both the chill of the air and the darkness of his thoughts. The worry was starting to fade, giving way to a sense of steely determination. He would never let them take him; never let them dishonor all he'd suffered, all he'd given, for the sake of their unfounded fears. If this was his stand then so be it; he would give his dying breath before he allowed them to harm Ichigo.

* * *

A/N: Wow, this chapter took a lot longer to write than I had anticipated (and was a lot longer). I appreciate everyone being patient with me, and hopefully it was worth it. The plot line is starting to unfold a little more as the characters continue to fray. There were hints about things to come, but I'm not going to spoil it by giving any more away. You'll just have to wait and see what happens for yourselves. If you have the time, please let me know what you thought. It's always nice to hear other people's perspectives.

As always, my thanks go out to Shiruy for her great beta skills.

SK


	7. Interlude

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach. All characters associated with the series are the property of Tite Kubo, I am simply borrowing them for my own amusement.

**Chapter 7 – Interlude **

Urahara had always prided himself on the strength of his connections. Hardly a scandal passed, even during the height of his exile, to which he did not possess the most intimate detail, often times long before the elite of Seireitei. After his return to relative favor, this fountain of information had increased tenfold, and so he was under no illusions as to the state Soul Society was in.

They were still reeling, unbalanced by their losses, torn by confusion and the betrayals they had suffered. They were unpredictable and, at least to Urahara's mind, that made them dangerous. Someone like Ichigo terrified them, because of his raw power, and because of his unfathomable potential. He was an unknown factor, a turbulent, dark uncertainty gnawing at their already suspicious minds.

There was a restlessness growing within their ranks, born of unresolved fears and unfocused anger, straining at the already frayed ties of their once structured existence. Urahara knew that should they fall into this madness they would be nearly impossible to reach, lost to deafening scream or their own demons. More importantly, Hitsugaya seemed to know it, which was a small measure of hope in this otherwise turbulent mess. All he needed to know had been communicated in their glance, in the subtle exchange that had passed between them the day before. Hitsugaya had no intention of placing Ichigo in danger, and not even the lapse with Isshin could change that. He was simply going through the motions, putting on a show for the terrified masses. There had never been a question as to what would be reported.

Unfortunately, there was still a fair chance that it wouldn't be enough; that they would call for a formal hearing to evaluate the threat Ichigo posed. If this occurred, it would _not_ be in the form of a polite request, not with their paranoia running rampant; they would come for him at the end of a sword. They would drag him down and attempt to subdue him, locking him away while they considered his fate like some sort of animal. Urahara growled low in his throat, daring them to try, even as a small thrill of worry trailed up his spine.

"How bad is it?" A quiet voice tore through his reflections and Urahara glanced over as Kon stepped though the recently created hole in his shop.

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with," he assured him, sliding further along the wall so the mod soul could join him.

"I saw that look you gave Toushirou," Kon pressed, leaning a shoulder against the building and crossing his arms.

"Did you now?" Urahara didn't bother to deny it.

Kon shifted; irritated or uncomfortable, it was hard to tell. "How am I supposed to protect Karin and Yuzu if I don't know what I'm looking for?"

"I think you have a good idea what you'd be looking for." Pale brows drew together as he met the steady, challenging gaze.

"Do you really think they'll come?" Kon asked, a nearly inaudible tremor belying his calm tone.

"It doesn't matter; I would never let him be taken." Urahara turned away, studying the grounds where he had so recently engaged Ichigo in battle. "Just make sure that the children are _far_ away should they prove foolish enough to try."

Kon nodded absently, it was an unnecessary reminder but he took no offense. "Do you really think you could stop them?"

Grey-green eyes flicked back to Kon and the mod soul felt the slow burn or reiatsu crawl over his skin. It was easy to forget, what with the unique mannerisms and lackadaisical attitude, that Urahara could be exceptionally dangerous when properly motivated. He was, after all, the only person other than Ichigo to have mastered the use of his bankai in only three days time. He was also one of the few who had stood on equal ground with an Espada, armed with little more than a Shikai release and a razor-edged smile.

Kon knew all of this, had seen the proof in the devastation laid out before Benihime's graceful arc, which was what made the brief flicker of uncertainty behind the steely resolve all the more frightening. Urahara would place himself between Ichigo and the Shinigami without thought or hesitation, of that Kon was sure. Beyond that, however, nothing was certain and despite the faith he had in the older man's ability, Kon couldn't help the nagging worry that started to fester.

He cleared his throat, running a hand though his hair as he cast about for a new topic, grasping at the first thing that came to mind. "Where's Ichigo?"

"He's sleeping," Urahara sighed, feeling suddenly tired himself. "Yesterday was…difficult."

Kon huffed in agreement. "He should take his body and spend some time with his sisters. It might help to take the edge off his mood."

His tone was easy, unconcerned, but from the way he could feel the gaze boring into the side of his head he knew something must have slipped.

"My offer to make you a gigai still stands, you know?" Urahara said softly, studying the familiar profile.

"It's better this way." Kon shrugged noncommittally. "Ichigo need someone to keep an eye on his body, and it's easier to protect the girls when I look like this. It's win-win."

This was a familiar discussion; one which they had engaged in a number of times since the end of the war. Kon, much to the surprise of almost all who knew him, had adamantly refused to be granted his freedom after the Arrancar ceased to be a threat. He'd shrugged it off, saying he'd grown accustomed to the arrangement, but Urahara knew better. He had seen panic and desperation dancing behind that perfect, effortless smile.

Kon, simply by the nature of his origins, had never had a family, never had the feeling of belonging to something larger than himself. He had been alone, with the very real fear that he would spend eternity in the exact same state, right up until the moment he met Ichigo. Somehow, against all odds, he had found himself a part of a very vibrant, very _real_ structure. Ichigo's family had become _his_ family, and he was unwilling to part with them, even if it meant he had to share their time. Even if it meant he had to wait in the bitter darkness between those moments of warmth and light. Urahara understood what drove the need, understood that gaping fear of isolation, and he found it heartbreaking.

"They would still know you, even in another form," he broached the taboo subject gently.

"Yuzu wouldn't," Kon's lips twisting briefly into a tired, self-deprecating smile.

"She would accept you easily, especially with Ichigo and Karin's support; it's one of her most charming qualities," Urahara pressed.

"It wouldn't be the same." Kon finally met his eyes, the hurt flickering briefly across his face.

Urahara reached out, reacting to the familiar, haunted pain, sliding a hand behind his neck and drawing him into a gentle embrace. Kon stiffened for a moment, holding himself rigid as though expecting some further assault, but Urahara remained still and slowly the lull of the warmth began to whisper bittersweet promises into his skin. In its flowing caress Kon could almost believe in a simpler life, where compassion was easy and acceptance was free. Where the fears and knowledge burned forever into his bones were nothing more than the threads of old nightmares to be washed away with the morning's kiss. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he cast aside his embarrassment for one brief moment and allowed himself the comfort of being held.

"It could never be the same," he repeated, his voice so soft that it died almost the instant it passed trembling from his lips.

"I suppose you're right," Urahara murmured against his temple, staring out into the empty lot once more. "But different isn't always worse."

They stood like that for a time, Urahara kneading slow circles against the knots of tension formed by Kon and Ichigo's years of abuse. The mod soul gradually relaxed, his head falling forward as clever fingers worked their way up his neck. Hesitantly, haltingly, as if unsure he was allowed such a thing, his arms slid around Urahara's waist, returning the embrace. The older man smiled softly, stroking through his wild tangle of hair but the despondency refused to leave him as he continued to offer what small comfort he could against yet another pain that was beyond his reach.

"You _do_ realize that I'm not Ichigo, right?" Kon drawled lazily, breaking the easy silence.

Urahara's lips twitched up at the corners. "I assure you, I am quite capable of telling the difference, despite the similarities in your appearance."

"Hmm," Kon didn't sound entirely convinced.

"Believe me, if I mistook you for Ichigo you'd know it," Urahara chuckled; running a finger up the back of his neck in what was fast becoming a familiar gesture.

"Why do you keep doing that?" the mod soul demanded, pulling back to glare and shivering despite his best efforts.

"For the most part, I do it because it amuses Karin," Urahara admitted freely, studying him with weighted curiosity. "Though I think that somewhere under all the complaints, you like it as well."

Kon's lips parted on a surprised breath, the color creeping into his cheeks. He recovered quickly, falling back on years of sarcasm and control. "You know I'm not into guys."

Urahara brought a hand up, trailing his knuckles over the faint hint of pink still lingering beneath the almost invisible freckles. "That doesn't mean you don't enjoy being touched."

Kon seemed momentarily lost; a look of profound loneliness fluttering briefly through his eyes before they fell shut to hide his soul. He leaned without thought into the caress as Urahara repeated the gesture, catching the single tear that slid glittering from the confines of his dark lashes. The blond leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the mod soul's forehead before pulling him back against his shoulder.

"None of us see you as a placeholder for anyone, Kon," he assured him, wishing he could make him believe. "You are your own person, despite your outward appearance, and that is what we all see in you."

"Don't think you can sweet talk your way into my pants," Kon drawled shakily, his voice thick with the effort to regain his composure.

"You can't blame me for trying," Urahara said wryly, turning his attention back to the sky.

"I knew this would happen." Ichigo's voice rolled over them and Kon reacted instantly, pulling away as though he'd been burned.

"I'm not…it's just…," he stuttered, wide-eyed and swiping furtively at his cheeks. He opened his mouth to continue, but a quick glance at Ichigo revealed the telltale signs of a smirk and Urahara's low chuckle licked at his ears. Kon scowled darkly, but it was ruined by his now rising blush.

"You two are really messed up," he accused, giving them each a sulking glare.

"We're _all_ fucked up," Ichigo corrected, strolling slowly toward them.

"Whatever." Kon rolled his eyes, still looking flustered as he gave Ichigo a pointed look. "You need to spend some time with your sisters."

He snatched Benihime from the wall, fully intending to shed Ichigo's body before any new horror could befall him, but the younger man caught his arm at the last second. They stared at each other in silence, Ichigo looking thoughtful and Kon both bewildered and wary as the grip holding him captive relaxed, a thumb stroking absently over some half-forgotten scar on the inside of the wrist they had shared for years. Ichigo's free hand rose, tracing the mod soul's lips, catching the breath humid against his skin as they parted in silent question. Ichigo cocked his head, brows pulling slightly in response to some unspoken thought as his eyes raked over the face that was his and not his at the same time.

"I'll try not to make you wait too long," the younger man promised, watching the familiar eyes flare in the instant before Benihime connected and the little green ball roll into the palm of his waiting hand.

His body slumped awkwardly as it fell and Ichigo staggered, still juggling Benihime and Kon's fragile, true self. Urahara stepped in, rescuing his precariously balanced zanpakutou and the mod soul from danger so Ichigo could reassume his physical form.

"How long were you there?" the blond wondered aloud, watching the younger man roll his shoulder as if to settle his skin on its frame. Ichigo's reiatsu suppression skills, though still far from perfect, had come a long way since their journey began.

"Awhile," he admitted with another rolling shrug.

"He really is a remarkable character," Urahara mused, staring down at the tiny orb nestled helpless in his palm. "His deceptions and laughter flow so smoothly at times that I almost forget how much he hides."

"It's not fair to him." Ichigo ran an agitated hand through his hair, the old frustration simmering close to the surface.

Urahara grabbed him by the hips and spun him to face the lot, wrapping his arms around him from behind.

"It's not," he agreed, resting his forehead against the back of Ichigo's hair, "but it's how he wants it for now.

"Sometimes I think I should just let him keep my body," the younger man confessed, crossing his arms over Urahara's and sinking deeper into him. "It would be easier for everyone."

"Are you feeling melodramatic again?" the blond asked, nuzzling him affectionately.

"I'm serious," Ichigo shifted irritably, knocking him away. "He's better with them – with the girls, with my dad, with the people at school. Everyone."

"So you _are_ feeling melodramatic," Urahara confirmed, nipping gently at his ear.

"I mean it, Kisuke." He turned to glare, only to be cut off by a pair of warm lips.

Urahara pulled back, planting a second kiss on the tip of his nose. "You can't just hand off your life to Kon; he needs one of his own." He kissed him again, slower this time, soothing. "And you need to live yours."

"Maybe I don't want to," Ichigo muttered petulantly, but Urahara knew it was mostly for show.

Ichigo was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the human side of his existence, having returned to his world to find that he had little in common with those he had left behind. He was unable to find a footing with classmates whose worries consisted of little more than dating, pop-culture, and the next big test. He could find little to say to teachers, or parents, or strangers on the street who thought they knew enough of the world to give them even a clue as to how lucky they were for every breath that they took. He didn't resent them for their sheltered existence, it was one of the things he had struggled so hard to protect, he simply didn't have the time or patience to deal with it anymore. Urahara completely understood the sentiment, shared it even, but he also recognized that allowing Ichigo to fully withdraw from his former life was not a viable solution to the problem.

"How is Ishida doing these days?" he asked, ignoring the half-hearted grumbles and pulling him closer.

"Still fucking around in America with his Quincy-bitch father," Ichigo spat, turning back to stare at nothing.

"Hmm." Urahara rested his chin on Ichigo's shoulder and followed his line of sight.

Ryuuken was a sore subject with a lot of people. In the end, he had put aside his personal feelings long enough to join the war, but he had never been even remotely pleasant, and he had never let the Shinigami forget how much he despised them. When it was over, he left the country within days, putting an ocean between his son and the influences he saw as a filthy corruption. No one knew exactly why Uryuu had agreed to the move, but he still kept in touch and it was Urahara's opinion that it was only a matter of time before he returned in spite of his father's demands.

"What about Inoue?" Urahara pressed further into dangerous territory.

Ichigo was silent for a long moment, more likely contemplating _if_ he was going to answer than what he was going to say. Ishida was an easier topic because he had been trained to fight since childhood and had involved himself in the fray through his own stubborn persistence. The others, who had obtained their abilities through Ichigo's lack of control, were another matter entirely. He had never really forgiven himself for what they suffered because of a curse he felt he had bestowed on them.

"She's living with Tatsuki downtown," he finally replied, his shoulders slumping in the aftermath of tension. "She works at some restaurant after school."

"Hmm," Urahara intoned again. He was, of course, aware of this himself, and had even been in to see her at work, but it was important to draw Ichigo back into the larger world sometimes. "And Sado?"

"You know how Chad is," Ichigo countered bitterly; "You're the one who does the maintenance on his new arm."

"The arm is fine; it's exactly like the one he lost, probably better. It even still works with his Brazo Izquierda del Diablo," the former captain relayed clinically. "I was inquiring as to how he is outside of that."

"He's fine," Ichigo muttered, "Inoue's dragging him off to look at some university next week."

"You should have them over sometime," he urged, "They probably miss you."

"They wanted me to go with them," Ichigo admitted softly.

"You should." Urahara turned to press a kiss behind his ear.

"I have things to do." He sighed, tilting his head slightly away.

"It's only an afternoon," Urahara pointed out, trailing his lips down the younger mans neck.

"I told them I was busy." Ichigo leaned into the touch, withdrawing further from the world around them.

There had been a time after the war when Ichigo and his human friends had remained close, relying on each other to settle back into normalcy. It hadn't lasted, though, because Ichigo's guilt refused to die and the others never fully understood the forces that drove him. Of them all, only Ishida had gone with them into the fires of the final battles. Only Ishida knew the things that clawed at the backs of their eyes and ate at their souls in the darkest hours of the night.

Chad had lost his arm during an early skirmish, a simple recon mission that had turned out to be an ambush. Ichigo hadn't been there, and for that he blamed himself, just as he always did. To the Shinigami, the loss of a limb was considered a minor injury, even though the taint of Aizen's specially developed spells had prevented Inoue from rejecting the event. Creating a new arm was not of any real concern to them, but Ichigo had taken it hard, the guilt gnawing at his already raw nerves. He sent all the humans away from the fight after that, unable to bear his responsibility for their continued suffering.

Ishida alone had a tenacity to rival Ichigo's, as well as the power to needed to give him a chance in what had become a bitter conflict. In the end they had gone toe to toe over the matter in the most ferocious way possible. Ichigo, silver eyed and furious, had flown at Ishida, whose own reiatsu was flaring so heavily that he almost appeared to have wings. The resulting explosion had left a crater nearly 200 yards across, in the center of which the two of them continued to clash as though they could dominate the other through sheer force of will. In truth, Ichigo could have overpowered Ishida, but he would have needed to draw on his mask, and risk lasting damage to a friend who was only doing what he would have done in the same position. He had finally conceded the point, as they lay panting in their ruined battlefield, and Ishida went on with them until the bloody end.

Urahara's eyes slid shut as he sighed against Ichigo's shirt. He had already said all there was to say on the subject, and he knew repeating himself would do no good. It was up to the man in his arms to recognize that distancing himself from the people who had loved him for so long was no way to protect them, or to atone for the past.

"Maybe next time," he suggested, "You really should start looking into universities, considering your grades are near the top of your class."

"You're just trying to get rid of me," Ichigo accused mildly, effectively dodging the issue.

"Every chance I get," Urahara confirmed nipping at his shoulder. Ichigo was aware of the decisions awaiting his attention; there was no reason to drive them home. "We should head back in and make breakfast before the children stage some sort of coup."

"You're full of shit, we both know Ururu does the cooking around here," Ichigo muttered, but pulled away none the less.

"I supervise," Urahara claimed loftily, lingering against the wall for a moment longer.

"Bullshit," Ichigo shot back. "You supervise getting in the way and sticking your fingers in stuff."

"Quality control," Urahara assured him with a smirk.

"Sure." Ichigo rolled his eyes, passing back into the building and out of sight.

**(*)**

"You're ridiculous and I hate you," Karin stated calmly, poking a bit of rice into her mouth and staring across the table at Hitsugaya.

"You _hate_ me?" he asked dryly, as if needing confirmation.

She nodded and continued chewing.

"Because I don't know who Nakamura Shunsuke is?" The genius captain apparently needed further clarification.

She nodded again, "How can you play soccer and not know Nakamura?"

"I very rarely play soccer _willingly_," he reminded her, kneading his right temple with two fingers.

"I still hate you," she assured him, prompting a series of snickers from Jinta who was watching their conversation with sadistic amusement.

Ichigo shifted moodily as the captain of the 10th division squeeze his eyes shut in a bid for patience.

"Is Nakamura Shunsuke the guy on your wall?" Yuzu asked absently, turning briefly from the conversation she was having with Ururu.

"Thank you!" Karin waved her chopsticks dramatically, "at least someone's been paying attention."

Jinta snorted and even Ururu stifled a giggle as Hitsugaya's face slid into his hands. Yuzu's presence prevented him from replying as anything other than a normal 13 year old friend of Karin's, and so he was left primarily at her mercy. She, being aware of this fact, was exploiting his weakness to the fullest extent of her abilities.

They launched into another topic, this time with Jinta joining the fray, and Ichigo resisted the urge to glare at the young captain for his perceived role in this outrage. He shifted again on his cushion and winced, proceeding a little more cautiously as he settled back into place. He hadn't noticed so much while he was standing, but there was a definite, lingering soreness in certain areas now that he was seated. He scowled a little, ignoring the urge to squirm.

"This is precisely why I usually insist on heavier types of lubrication." Urahara murmured, his voice barely carrying to Ichigo's ears over the laughter at the table.

"I'm fine," he growled, glancing at his sisters to make sure they were still occupied elsewhere.

"You're really too tense for saliva to be adequate, especially in a shower," Urahara continued, watching him from the corner of his eye, "and to use it again the next day only compounded the problem."

"Will you be _quiet_," Ichigo hissed, glancing across the table to where Yuzu was giggling at the deadpan look Hitsugaya was giving the wall.

Urahara chuckled, letting his gaze drop briefly to the area in question before changing the subject.

"Do you have any plans for today?" he asked in a less secretive tone, taking a sip of tea.

"No." Ichigo gave him one last scowl, having noticed the not so subtle glance. "I have some homework I have to finish, but I thought I'd leave the rest up to someone else."

"That seems like a safe plan," the blond agreed with a nod and an enduring smirk.

"I have to meet with some people later," Hitsugaya joined their conversation, giving them both a look that conveyed _exactly_ who he had to meet with.

Ichigo's jaw clenched but he managed a nod, while Urahara seemed to lapse into thought.

"Oh, Toushirou-kun can't spend the afternoon with us?" Yuzu sounded genuinely disappointed at the loss.

"I'm sure he'll be back when he's done with his friends," Urahara assured her, his eyes not leaving the captain until he received an answering nod.

Karin had gone silent as well, and those who were capable could feel the burn of her anger simmering around them.

"We should go out for ice cream," Jinta blurted suddenly, kicking Karin under the table and smiling at Yuzu.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Urahara agreed easily, turning to Ichigo, "How do you feel about ice cream?"

"It's 9 in the morning," he pointed out evenly, giving the older man a strange look.

"I think it's a great idea," Karin added hastily, rubbing her ankle.

"Then it's settled," Urahara nodded, "we shall go for after-breakfast ice cream."

"I don't really feel like it," Ichigo shrugged. "You guys go without me."

"Sitting around and brooding isn't going to change anything," the blond coaxed, lowering his voice.

"I'm fine," Ichigo muttered stubbornly.

"Obviously," Urahara drawled, cocking a pale eyebrow and running a finger along the sole of a conveniently bare foot.

"Dammit, Kisuke," Ichigo yelped, banging his knee into the table as he jerked away.

"Are you Ichi-nii's boyfriend?" Yuzu broke in softly, effectively crashing the conversation into a wall.

Ichigo snapped up to find everyone frozen in place and staring at Yuzu who was, in turn, staring at Urahara with utter sincerity.

"What?" Ichigo spluttered, looking between Urahara, who was carefully returning his tea to the table, and his sister, who turned to face him when he spoke, "Why the hell would you say something like that?"

"Isn't that why daddy's mad at you?" she asked gently, a rare frown marring her brow, "because you have an older boyfriend?"

Ichigo's jaw snapped closed as he was forced to remind himself that general sweetness did not, in fact, denote a lack of attention to one's surroundings. He looked to Urahara but found him studying his teacup intently, much as he had during the initial confrontation with Isshin.

"Dad's just being stupid," Karin supplied, "you know how he gets about Ichi-nii."

"I know," Yuzu mumbled, looking uncertain, "but it's different this time."

She looked around the sea of faces as if looking for the answer to some unknown question. She paused the longest on Ichigo, who was still gaping amidst a rising flush, before returning to the blond staring down into nothing. She rose from her cushion and circled the table, crouching in front of Urahara. Her gaze passed briefly to her brother, who met it with apprehension, before she seemed to come to a decision.

"It's okay if you're his boyfriend," she whispered, placing a hand on his arm, "you seem nice and you make him happier. He needs someone to make him happy."

Urahara's eyes softened and he reached out to tuck some loose hair behind her ear. "Your spirit never ceased to amaze me," he told her gently, "but I'm not sure your brother would appreciate you calling me his _boyfriend_."

Ichigo ran a hand over his face, like he couldn't believe this was happening and Yuzu looked between them once more, obviously upset by his response. She turned back to the table, to the others staring transfixed at the unfolding drama and her face fell, her lips parting slightly in dismay.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, turning back to Urahara, "It was wrong of me to bring it up here. I didn't mean to make everyone uncomfortable."

There were tears welling in her eyes as she started to turn away and Ichigo finally snapped out of his stupor. He leaned forward over Urahara, catching her hand before she could rise and pulling her back around.

"It's okay, Yuzu," he assured her, "no one's uncomfortable, it's just a little complicated."

She nodded shakily, uncertainty still lingering in her eyes. "I shouldn't have called him your boyfriend. I just thought…I don't know," she shrugged helplessly.

"Don't be sorry," he frowned, aware that he was not well equipped to handle this sort of thing, "I'm just not sure _boyfriend_ is the right word."

Looking between them, he found her wrist still clutched in the confines of his much larger hand, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, thumb trailing over the fragile bones, before releasing her. He sat back, reaching for a glass of water and raising it to his lips in a bid for more time to think of the proper response to give her.

"What about lover?" Yuzu whispered after a moment's thought, trying to correct her earlier misunderstanding. "That's having sex with someone when it's not really a relationship, right?"

Ichigo choked into his glass, inhaling a mouthful of water and spraying the all with a fine mist as he spluttered incredulously. Urahara gave him a mild, appraising look as he slipped an arm around him, retrieving the offending cup patting him gently on the back.

"I'm sorry," Yuzu seemed even more distressed at the outburst. "Is that not right?"

"I think it's a fairly adequate term," Urahara smiled reassuringly, ignoring what sounded suspiciously like an '_oh, fuck_' as he pulled the still choking Ichigo against his shoulder.

She tried to return his smile but couldn't manage it, still watching her brother in apparent concern.

Ichigo, having finally regained control of his lungs, raised his head to look at her through watering eyes. She seemed worried and he realized most of that was his fault, for being what Urahara would probably term _melodramatic_. She was just asking a simple question, and it wasn't like he was hiding anything, at least not about this. He tried to smooth his features into one of those comfortable looks he always saw Kon using, but it came out as more of a grimace.

Ichigo shot a surreptitious glance at their audience, noting the way Jinta seemed to be gnawing a hole in his lip to keep from laughing and the fact the Karin was sporting a grin like her birthday had come early. He glared at them both before returning to Yuzu, who was still agonizing over her assumed indiscretion. Reaching out, he once again borrowed from Kon in the easy way he ruffled her hair, and, judging by the way the tension melted from her frame, he must have got it right this time.

"I didn't mean to say anything," she admitted sheepishly, looking worlds happier for the small affection. "I just didn't think it was a big deal since everyone else already knew."

"You figured that out?" Karin seemed fascinated by this new, observant side of her twin.

Yuzu nodded, "I knew that everyone was upset about someone Ichi-nii was seeing, but I didn't know who until now." She smiled at Urahara before turning back to her sister. "That day you and Ichi-nii were late after school, Daddy kept muttering about old perverts and…well a lot of naughty words, but I guessed that meant you were with whoever he were seeing. After I realized it was Kisuke-san, I knew Jinta-kun and Uru-chan had to know, too, because Ichi-nii must stay here all those nights he doesn't come home and Jinta-kun kept rolling his eyes at them when he thought no one was looking."

She shrugged with a little smile, as though proud of herself for having reasoned this out, but faltered as her gaze fell on Hitsugaya. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it gently as if unsure how to continue.

"I saw you give them a naughty look earlier when they were talking. I don't know if Karin told you, or if you just figured it out like I did, but you shouldn't be like that." She frowned in gentle admonishment. "Ichi-nii isn't doing anything bad, he can like whoever he wants, even if it's another boy."

Ichigo's eyes darted to the young captain, wincing at what he must have overheard to prompt the _naughty_ look, but Hitsugaya was distracted by Karin's snort of laughter.

"Yeah, Toushirou, quit being so fucking intolerant," she snickered.

"Karin!" Yuzu exclaimed, her eyes going wide.

"Shit," Karin muttered and then flinched again. She'd grown accustomed to saying whatever she liked at the shop and it was a hard habit to break. Across the table, Hitsugaya smirked as if this were justice of some sort.

Yuzu shook her head at them both, turning back to Ichigo who was still staring as thought seeing her for the first time.

"I just want you to be happy," she whispered up at him earnestly. "You're never happy anymore."

"I'm sorry you've been worried." He knew it was inadequate but he didn't know how to make it better.

"Daddy's more worried than I am," she confessed, her eyes full of that guileless trust she always seemed to exude. "I know you'll be okay."

She was so sincere in her belief that he couldn't help the small tug of a smile that pulled at his lips, or the brief, genuine stirring of hope. Urahara's hand slid to his neck, thumb tracing his spine as through urging him forward.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said awkwardly, because he could think of nothing else. "Everyone knew so I guess I should have said something."

"It's okay," she assured him. "You like to have secrets."

This wasn't really true, but he couldn't correct her without explaining his _need_ for the secrets and so he said nothing at all. She didn't seem to mind the silence, cocking her head to the side to study Urahara more intently.

"You know, with all the fuss everyone's making I was expecting someone at least daddy's age," she confided. "You're nowhere _near_ that old."

"Um, yeah…." Ichigo grimaced again, casting a glance at Urahara who was grinning at his sister like she could do no wrong. He had to admit, the blond _was_ aging incredibly well. He could probably pass for 30, maybe even younger, unless someone really took the time to look past his eyes.

"Dad's just being…overprotective," Karin censored herself properly this time. "He's making it a big deal when he shouldn't."

Yuzu nodded as she rose, making her way back to her own cushion. "When he gets back we'll just have to make him see its okay," she said practically, looking determined before brightening on a thought. "He can't really be _that_ mad, right? I mean he let us stay here after all."

Karin hesitated, biting her tongue against an angry retort. She really didn't know what the long term plan was, but she figured that Yuzu was bound to notice if they never went home and she didn't want to upset anyone before she had to. She glanced away, catching a fleeting glimpse of the same thought in Ichigo before he blinked it aside, leaning unconsciously against Urahara, whose normally unreadable mask was tempered with a vague sense of sadness.

"I should be going," Hitsugaya finally deemed it safe to break in. "I have to meet with my _friends_ in an hour or so."

Yuzu voiced her dismay again, but he assured her that he would be back as soon as possible which seemed to appease her. He made his way to the door, pausing to casting a lingering glance back at Urahara and Ichigo, as though to reassure them of his intent, before slipping away.

Ichigo let out the breath he'd been holding, his head falling against Urahara's shoulder as the arm tightened fractionally around him. He tried to shake off the rolling anger for the sake of the others, but the claws were sinking in and he could already feel small measure of his earlier peace evaporating.

"It's going to be fine," Urahara whispered against his hair, too quiet for the others to hear. "We should go out, keep your mind off of it."

"I don't want any damn ice cream," Ichigo muttered, exasperated.

"You two are so cute," Yuzu exclaimed happily, un-phased by the seemingly unwarranted shift in the atmosphere.

Ichigo looked up, startled, and felt Urahara chuckle softly. He hadn't been referred to as _cute_ in that tone in years and he really wasn't sure how to handle it.

"This is really okay with you?" He was still waiting for the proverbial _other shoe_ to drop.

"You're doing really well in school and you don't seem as sad anymore," she smiled at him again, looking so much like his mother in that instant that it pulled at something deep inside. "I just want you to be happy. You _are_ happier, right?"

"Yeah, I guess I am," Ichigo admitted, wondering how that was possible with everything that had happened.

"Well that's what matters. As long as you're happy and safe then I'm happy too," she said sincerely.

Yuzu smiled that motherly smile again and Ichigo felt the last embers of his anger fade to ash. She was like a beacon calling out from a simpler time, a reminder of everything he had fought so hard to preserve. This was why she needed to be saved from the world and all the dark things lurking deep in the shadows. This was why he had brought her here.

"You _are_ using protection, right?" she asked suddenly, her tone reminding them that she _had_ been working in a clinic years. "Protection is really important."

Ichigo was saved from his horrified silence by Karin choking on sheer, overwhelming glee as she dropped her head into her folded arms amidst a series of undignified snorts. Beside her, Jinta looked like this was quite possibly the greatest conversation he had ever witnessed, leaning forward so as not to miss a single word. Ichigo turned to Urahara blankly and found the older man looking slightly guilty and more than a little amused.

"You shouldn't laugh," Yuzu scolded her sister. "I'm being serious."

Karin bit her lip, looking up at her twin and then to Ichigo, who had adopted a rather surly scowl in the absence of an appropriate response. She choked again.

"It's important to be safe about these things," Yuzu insisted, sinking into an even more clinical tone.

"I think ice cream _was_ a good idea," Ichigo interjected sharply, fearing that she might launch into a lecture of why _exactly_ she believed this to be true. "Everyone out. Go get ready."

For a second Yuzu looked inclined to argue, but then seemed to realize that Ichigo was agreeing to the ice cream and broke into a huge grin. She hopped up, grabbing Karin and Ururu and practically dragged them from the room, possibly fearing that Ichigo would rethink his decision if left to brood for any length of time. Jinta followed more slowly, looking sullen and disappointed as through he'd been denied a much coveted prize.

"What the hell," Ichigo muttered after a long silence, running a hand over his face. He climbed slowly to his feet, stacking the scattered dishes and heading for the kitchen. "My life can't possibly get any more fucked up."

"Be careful how loud you say that," Urahara warned, following behind him with a smile.

"My 13 year old sister shouldn't be lecturing me about protection," Ichigo mumbled, dumping the dishes into the sink and turning to take the rest.

"Apparently we _need_ to be lectured," Urahara pointed out mildly.

"She shouldn't know that," Ichigo exclaimed, coloring at the thought.

He turned to leave but Urahara caught him, pulling him into his arms and turning to pin him to the counter. He raised a hand, tracing the blush along his cheekbone, sliding lower to cup his jaw. Ichigo sighed into his touch and Urahara smiled, kissing his forehead softly.

"You seem uncomfortable with all of this," he murmured, running his other hand up the younger man's back.

"It's not that," Ichigo huffed, snaking his arms around his neck."It's just…it's fucking _Yuzu!_"

"She certainly is a surprise on occasion," Urahara chuckled.

Ichigo groaned, dropping his head against Urahara's neck. "It's not funny."

Urahara pulled him closer, still smiling softly. Times like these, where there was room for embarrassment and gentle teasing, were becoming increasingly rare. He wished more than anything that he had the power to maintain this balance, this small measure of peace, but that, like so many things in his world, was beyond his control. The sense of helpless frustration pulsed a little deeper, pulling at the edges of his smile as Ichigo began to shiver against him. He leaned back, staring down in concern only to find, astonishingly, that Ichigo was snickering.

"Okay, so maybe it's a _little_ funny, but shit -," Ichigo shook his head, hair tickling against Urahara's jaw. "No more fucking sex advice from my sisters."

Urahara hooked a finger under his jaw, tipping it up to catch that fleeting mirth in his eyes. He released him, using the press of his body to hold him in place and framed his face between his hands. Ichigo remained relaxed, regarding him with an easy, lingering smile and Urahara leaned in, kissing him soft and slow as if to burn the taste of his happiness forever on his tongue.

Ichigo's arms tightened around his neck, leaning into him as Urahara's hands trailed through his hair. He moaned softly, stroking the tongue that slid teasing past his lips, tilting his head to draw him further in. There was a quiet urgency simmering through Urahara, powerful and overwhelming, consuming him so thoroughly that Ichigo was left breathless and dizzy.

They broke away, panting quietly and Ichigo could see the tension lurking behind Urahara's gaze; a wistful, melancholy sadness. He unwound an arm and reached up, brushing the pale hair back, tracing the barely visible frown. Ichigo leaned in, kissing him again to sooth the ache that he recognized even without understanding.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly; thumb still stroking the curve of his brow.

"I'm fine," Urahara assured him with that same wistful smile.

Ichigo gave him a slightly dubious look but didn't press. Urahara was still unwilling to admit to a great many of his concerns, as though such an admission would somehow unbalance their strange dynamic. As though he was not allowed to be anything other than the reassuring voice with the calming words and soothing answers. Ichigo knew there was a deeper story, could see it tugging at the edges and seeping through he slowly forming cracks, but had no idea how to get to it. One thing he _did_ know, however, was that the direct approach rarely met with success. As frustrating as it was, sometimes it was just better to let it go. For now.

He nudged Urahara backward and slipped around him, pausing by the door to glance back. That same assessing frown passed over his features before it fell away with a heavy sigh and the returning scowl.

"Come on; let's go get you some damn ice cream."

**(*)**

**A/N:** Well, it certainly has been a long road to get to this point! I'm still not completely out of the woods with the writers block, but things are looking up. I'm already well into the next chapter (mostly because it was part of this one until I decided it was getting too long split it up), but I make no time promises as I am working horrendous hours and regularly suffering from the whims of moody muses! Still, for the 2 or 3 of you still following this story, there is hope! I shall be victorious!

Okay, about the chapter: Some of you will note that its a little lighter than some of the previous one. This is intentional, and does not mean that I am planning on taking the edge out of the story. As the title suggests, this chapter represents a brief moment of rest. Personally, I think that its important to break up the tension sometimes...usually with DIFFERENT kinds of tension and/or twisted humor smile. I hope you find this, and upcoming chapters, worth the wait.

Special thanks to Renjifan and ShizukaShadow, without whom I might never have finished tinkering with this. hugs


	8. Through the Looking Glass

**Chapter 8 – Through the Looking Glass**

Urahara sighed, running a hand through his hair as he dropped the paper he was holding back onto one of the stacks littering his desk. He knew he'd been neglecting the store, but he hated paperwork even at the best of times, and the past month hadn't exactly fallen into that category. Ichigo, Isshin, and the Shinigami were already vying for his last thread of his attention, leaving little room for anything as mundane as Kyoto Packaging and Supply.

He eyed the mess with distaste and briefly considered sweeping the lot of it into the wastebasket, but thought better of it. With the way his luck had been going lately, one of these companies would be Yakuza-run, or something equally unpleasant. He shifted in his chair and reached for a different stack, hoping for something more interesting but finding a tax form instead. He felt the first throb of a headache stirring behind his eyes.

From the other room he could hear Yuzu's excited chatter, punctuated occasionally by her sisters more subdued tones and her brothers almost inaudible murmur. It seemed to be doing Ichigo good to be in a comfortable environment, away from inflammatory agents and the shadow of perceived threat. He still looked drained, and the tension hadn't left his shoulders in years, but there'd been a moment or two lately where he almost looked like he might smile.

Two days had passed since he'd taken his sisters, sacrificing another piece of his tattered soul as he watched his father's heart twist to ash. Two days since he nearly drowned under his doubt and grief atop that windswept hill as the night fell around them. Urahara worried that this brief reprieve was simply the lull before a far worse storm, but somehow it felt different. Something was shifting in Ichigo, the doubt ebbing away in the face something darker. The knot in Urahara's chest tightened but he pushed it down, locking it away with the thousand other things he didn't have time for. He had to keep moving.

Several stacks of paper and what seemed like an eternity later he was once again contemplating his wastebasket solution when a shadow shifted in the doorway. Glancing up, he found Ichigo leaning against the frame, watching him with a sort of brooding calculation.

"The store seems unusually quiet," Urahara noted, retrieving a random invoice from the chaos of paperwork.

"Tessai's running an errand and everyone else went to the park," Ichigo said softly and Urahara could feel a sort of indecision flicker through him.

"You didn't want to go with them?" He signed his name on a line and tossed the paper back onto one of the stacks.

"Not really," Ichigo confessed, stepping away from the door.

"I don't suppose you're here to be helpful." Urahara spared him a slightly bemused look.

Ichigo shrugged noncommittally, scooping up a handful of papers and perching on the edge of the desk to leaf through them.

"What is all this shit?" He muttered, scanning over a few pages.

Urahara pulled them lower with the tip of his pen, reading them upside down. "Those are the bills and resupply forms for some of the human companies I do business with."

"This one's a 4th division requisition form," Ichigo observed, holding it out for inspection.

Urahara grunted, tossing it onto a different stack. "I truly detest paperwork."

"You don't like work in general," Ichigo amended, adding another sheet to what appeared to be the Shinigami pile.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Urahara said loftily, signing off on another line with an added flourish.

Ichigo snorted quietly and picked up a second handful of papers, depositing the first in his lap for safekeeping.

"Twelfth division invoice, Nakamoto Printing bill, zoning notification," he ticked off the sheets one by one with a frown. "Why's all this shit in the same pile?"

"They all require me to speak with people I don't wish to at the moment," Urahara replied, leaning back in his chair and tossing the hair out of his eyes.

"Ah," Ichigo muttered dryly, a smirk playing on his lips. "You don't really have much of a system, do you?"

"On the contrary," Urahara plucked the papers from his grasp and dropped them seemingly at random onto the desk. "I have a very subtle and complex method in place."

Ichigo cocked an unconvinced eyebrow, shifting his gaze between the mess and the man responsible for it. "How long have you been letting this pile up?"

"I've been busy lately," Urahara shrugged." I handle what's immediately pressing and then play it by ear."

"I don't know how the hell you've stayed in business," Ichigo sighed, shooting him an exasperated look.

"Good looks and inexhaustible charm will take you a long way," he assured him, completely unrepentant.

"Oh really?" The corner of Ichigo's mouth twitched faintly.

"Absolutely." Urahara flashed a grin, catching one of his wrists and bringing it to his lips.

Ichigo rolled his eyes at the gesture, the smirk tugging into a near smile. "Slack-ass."

"So cruel," Urahara whined, drawing him into his lap.

He pulled the remaining papers gently from Ichigo's hand, tossing them onto a random pile.

"You seem to be feeling better today," he observed.

There was still something lingering under his seemingly light mood, but Urahara knew that only time would bring it to the surface.

Ichigo let his head drop against Urahara's temple, shifting in the chair. "Everything almost feels normal."

Urahara smiled gently, wrapping his arms around him. "Almost normal seems like a step in the right direction."

"I just want to do what's right," Ichigo's eyes slid shut and Urahara could feel the tension radiating through his body.

"It's never a mistake to want to protect someone," he soothed, tracing the spine beneath his fingers. "Are you doubting your decisions?"

"I don't know," Ichigo admitted. "Yuzu seems happy for now and Karin doesn't have to worry, but I just can't get his face out of my mind."

Urahara turned his head, his nose brushing over Ichigo's cheek as he pulled him closer. "You and your sisters mean the world to your father, even if it doesn't seem like it right now."

Ichigo slid lower, lips scraping against the prickle of unshaven skin, settling in the curve of his neck.

"I know," he breathed, so faint that Urahara had to strain to hear him. "It's just…fucked."

Urahara dragged his fingers through the fine hairs at Ichigo's nape, a soothing display of support and comfort. Ichigo was a creature of absolutes, and for better or worse that was how they all knew him. His decisions, once made, were pursued wholeheartedly, without hesitation or backwards glance. For someone like him to be reduced to uncertainty was something for which Urahara had very little experience. He felt that familiar helplessness sink its claws a little deeper.

"It really does get better." He let his eyes slipped closed, burying his fingers deeper into the wild mess of hair. "Things are painfully intense at the moment, but it fades."

Ichigo grunted a wordless reply and fell into pensive silence, fidgeting slightly in quiet agitation. Urahara felt his reiatsu flutter, restless and unsure, before setting once more to hum beneath his skin. They were all fraying at the edges, and though Ichigo's responses were more obvious, his own strain was wearing at him like water over stone. It was like watching the world drown through a sheet of glass, unable to reach it as it slowly slid away. They were all slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do.

Ichigo's suffering tore a hole in his heart, the knife twisting deeper at each echo of his pain filled eyes. Isshin's grief-stained rage ate at his soul, searing him with the reminder of his own helplessness. The slow roll of Kon's lonely, tortured tear was burned into his eyes, haunting him with the memory of all the things he wished he could change, but never could. His errant thoughts drifter deeper, to a twisted smile lingering on too young lips. Karin, fierce warrior child, following steadfast in her brother's bloodstained footsteps. She deserved all the things she would never accept while Ichigo still struggled in the mire of his broken life. They all deserved more. More than the world had to offer. More than he had to give.

Urahara choked on the bitter taste of his own failure. With every passing second he felt the slow burn of his inability to protect them, to keep the darkness at bay, to bear the weight of their hopes on the strength of his will as the world fell around them. It was true that he had never asked for this, but he had accepted it without a moment's regret. He would endure whatever came because he must, because there was no other way, because he had long ago forgotten how to ask for help even when he felt himself stumble. He no longer remembered how to let go, even if it dragged him into the darkness to hold the others in the light. His heart pulsed again, tight and cold in that vice-like grip and he felt and answering sigh drift warm across his skin.

"I wish this could be easier," Ichigo murmured, his voice hardly carrying, as though speaking to himself.

Urahara's gaze drifted over him, but the younger man was still curled into the hollow of his throat. There was something different in his aura, a calm sort of heaviness rolling slowly through him. Whatever indecision had been plaguing him was gone, replaced by a vague sense of determination.

"Your chair's really uncomfortable," Ichigo spoke into his neck, flexing his spine as though to prove his point.

"It wasn't meant for double occupancy," Urahara pointed out, pushing his darker thoughts aside and striving for a lighter tone.

"It's digging into my back," Ichigo complained, the words tickling over sensitive skin.

Urahara pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I can see how that might be uncomfortable."

"I'm starting to lose feeling in my legs." Ichigo's lips curled faintly, nuzzling deeper into his warmth.

"If it's such a problem, I'm sure you could be doing something elsewhere," the blond reminded him, staring down at his bright head, unable to track the underlying mood.

"It's okay," Ichigo assured him, nipping at the pulse beneath his skin. "I'll deal with it."

"How generous of you to tolerate such hardship for my sake," Urahara muttered dryly, tilting his chin away as the assault continued up his neck.

"Are you done with your work?" Ichigo whispered against his jaw.

"Does it look like I'm done?" He countered, leaning in to capture that still wandering mouth.

Ichigo responded instantly, tongue meeting him half way, a soft moan drifting over parted lips. Cool fingers tangled in pale hair, drawing them closer as the kiss burned slowly between them.

"Looks like you're done from here," Ichigo breathed, teeth flashing sharp as they dragged over his lip.

Urahara's lashes fell softly, torn between the desire to slip closed and the need to hold the half-lidded gaze pinning him in place. Ichigo was brimming with a quiet agitation; he could feel it in the curl of the heavy air around them, thrumming with restrained power.

"I knew you weren't here to be helpful," he accused, fingers dipping under cloth to trace over warming flesh.

Ichigo shifted, dark amusement lurking in his features as he stretched a bare foot under the desk to hook the wastebasket. He dragged it free slowly, catching Urahara's gaze as he reached back to scoop a handful of papers off the glossy wood. Holding them at arm's length he stilled for a moment, cocking a well-sculpted eyebrow before releasing them to their fate below.

"That's an interesting filing method," Urahara acknowledged, leaning forward to nip at the smug tilt of his chin, "but I'm not sure it qualifies as helping."

"Fucking ingrate," Ichigo scolded, watching another stack flutter through the air.

Urahara chuckled, reaching past him to rescue his already completed work.

"You are quite possibly the worst influence I've ever encountered," he informed the younger man, "and believe me when I say that's no small feat."

"Hey, I can leave 'em if you want." Ichigo didn't bother to look at him as he casually scooped papers into the trash. "But they're gonna be in the way."

"And what is it they're going to be in the way _of_ exactly?" Urahara inquired blandly, reaching for another random stack.

Ichigo spared him a heavy glance, his reiatsu pulsing softly to brush over Urahara's skin. "I just remembered that I owe you a fuck."

"Did you, now?" Urahara tried to keep the tremor out of his voice, but he couldn't suppress the shiver at that tingling contact.

Ichigo's lips curved in an almost predatory smile, leaning forward until they were only a breath apart.

"I want to lay you across your desk and watch you writhe for me." His words were a soft caress, eyes glittering bright behind the mask of dark lashes.

Urahara breath caught in his throat, stealing the words from his parted lips as the blood started to sing beneath his skin. Ichigo leaned in, head tilting slightly, but pulled back out of reach as Urahara tried to catch him.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" He murmured smoothly, grazing the curve of the older man's jaw. "Do you want me to bend you over your desk and make you scream for me?"

Fire poured through Urahara's veins, eyes dilating under the weight of the sex thick voice and the rolling shiver of flickering reiatsu. He drew a shuddering breath; his pulse drummed an erratic tattoo against the slow glide of Ichigo's lips.

"I want to feel you shiver around me," Ichigo whispered hot against his ear, tracing the lobe with the tip of his tongue. "I want to hear you panting until you can't even draw breath to beg."

"Oh, gods…" Urahara let his eyes fall shut, grinding unconsciously against the body in his lap. The papers he was holding fell unheeded to the floor, his hands drifting up the younger man's back.

"Do you want it, Kisuke?" Ichigo slid the collar of his shirt aside, barring his flesh to the skim of teeth. "Do you want me to _make_ you beg for me?"

Urahara's breath hitched sharply as Ichigo bit down hard, the pain tinged bright with pleasure. His head rolled back, lost in the intensity of Ichigo's strange aggression, world slipping fast under the throb of his need. He had a weakness, at times, for the right kind of pain, but even on the rare occasions when Ichigo wanted to top he had never done so aggressively. Urahara struggled to reign in a whimper, grasping at the threads of some elusive awareness.

"Say it," Ichigo coaxed darkly, tongue tracing the marks his teeth left behind.

"You need to stop," he groaned raggedly, his control fraying badly as he tried to clear his head.

"Why, Kisuke?" Ichigo's voice was like honey, the whisper of a challenge burning thick in his tone.

His hand slid lower, nails scraping over a hardened nipple, the bud twisting sharp between battle rough fingers. Urahara hissed through tightly clenched teeth, chin tilting up in an almost submissive gesture as Ichigo's power pulsed again, harder this time. It had been well over a century since he'd felt sexual reiatsu, and more than twice that since he'd seen it with a darker tinge. This was dangerous territory, an unforeseen twist, and Urahara knew he was too close to the edge to allow it to continue.

"This is a bad idea right now."

There was a brief hesitation in the younger man's eyes, a faint pulling of his brows as they flew whisper fast over Urahara's face. Whatever he was searching for he either found it or didn't because the tension fell away, a wicked smirk drawing up the corner of his mouth.

Urahara felt strong hands run down his arms, tickling the fine hairs to attention before closing around his wrists. Ichigo slid from his lap with fluid grace, dragging his to his feet with an insistent tug. Urahara barely registered the move before the world spun and he slammed into the wall, his hands pinned above him.

"You're so fucking stubborn." Ichigo shook his head slowly, his eyes gone dark, blistering amber.

He swooped in fast, silencing the gasp of shock with an all consuming kiss. He dragged Urahara's wrists together, catching them in one hand pressed tight against wall. Freed fingers tangled through ash blond hair, cradling the back of Urahara's skull as his tongue pressed forward; tasting, possessing, demanding. Urahara moaned faintly, arching into the friction of Ichigo's lean body.

"Just say it," Ichigo coaxed softly, rolling his hips with an aching, hot slide.

"Who's asking?" Urahara was shaking, breath stirring ragged as he forced himself to care.

Ichigo stilled, his gaze lingering for a moment on those parted lips before traveling slowly upward. He released the captive wrists, trailing his fingers over Urahara's throat, thumb stroking the sharp line of his jaw.

"You think I'm losing control?" He challenged, unable to hide the faint tone of disappointment.

The thumb pressed gently, tilting his chin as the heated gaze raked over his face. The ocher fire flickered, vivid in eyes unblemished by the crawling, black tint.

"No," Urahara panted, his voice thick with spiraling lust, hands curling over Ichigo's hips. "But I feel _his_ aggression in you."

"No one's gonna fuck you but me," Ichigo murmured, the fire burning bright as he leaned slowly, deliberately forward.

"Is that so?" He groaned brokenly, rational though slipping through already frayed control.

"I promise," the younger man whispered hot against his mouth, the amber still lingering beneath the shadow of his lashes.

Ichigo's reiatsu surged hard for an instant, burning across his shivering nerves, choking him on the scream that rose trembling in his throat. He'd never felt anything so raw or so powerful, not in any of his experience with this erotic technique. He whimpered, his cock throbbing painfully, twitching in time with his frantic heart.

"Gods, Ichigo, you don't know what you're doing." He wanted to pull back but it was already too late, resolve crumbling away beneath surrenders siren call. He wanted this. He _needed_ this.

"Trust me," Ichigo breathed, the words laced with a longing that could never be described.

It was too much to bear; the softly pleading whisper, the pulsing ache of need, the hundred promises lingering in that brightly burning gaze.

"Please." His lips were moving before he even had the words, control slipping free for a single, blinding instant. "Gods, I need you…."

Urahara felt a current surge ragged up his spine as Ichigo's reiatsu uncoiled, licking heavy and thick across his skin. His eyes squeezed shut, a rough moan tearing from his gasping lips as it twisted around him, tracing his body like a thousand phantom fingers over every inch of flesh. Instinctively his own power rose to his defense, trying to push back, shuddering under the weight of the searing, liquid glide.

"Stop fighting," Ichigo murmured against his hyper-sensitive skin. "I won't let you win."

Urahara could feel the curl of his lips as their mouths crashed together, rough and fast. Hot fingers slid over his chest, tearing his shirt open, dragging it down over his shoulders. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe as the power coursed heavy between them, ripping at his shredded control with wicked, silken tendrils. Ichigo pulled him closer, sucking on his lip as the hand trailed down to pull at the edge of his pants.

"I'll do anything you want; you just have to say it." Ichigo's voice was dark with promise, dancing low across his skin. "Tell me how you need it, Kisuke."

His breath hitched sharp, shuddering over lips that were parting without consent. He begged them to be silent, begged them to not betray him in his final, gasping sin.

"Rough…," he choked on a moaning sob. "Gods, please…make me scream for you…."

The tie came free and Ichigo thrust his fingers into Urahara's pants, drinking in the deep groan pouring through their kiss. The remaining hand tangled into pale hair, dragging the other man with him as he pulled away from the wall.

There was a brief, struggling dance of mouths and hands and teeth before Urahara crashed into the desk, sprawling over the smooth, hard surface. He started to rise, but Ichigo was on him, pressing him into the wood with the weight of his body and the pulse of his wild reiatsu. Urahara's spine bowed sharp as the power spiked through him, shuddering as Ichigo's mouth dragged down his throat. The younger man pulled back, discarding his shirt as he slid lower, tongue and teeth scorching over sweat damp skin. Urahara's heart was pounding in his ears, his breath a painful gasp, writhing against the weight still holding him in place.

Ichigo paused, panting over the straining erection partially freed by half open ties. His amber eyes flickered upward, catching the lust-dark stare, licking the seam between cloth and flesh.

"Up," he commanded softly, stripping the final barrier aside as the older man obeyed without question.

Urahara hissed as Ichigo grasped him, his arousal pulsing hard against the slide of his palm. His head rolled back with a moan as Ichigo swooped down, taking him deep in one smooth motion. Ichigo hummed a wordless reply, the shivering vibrations and perfect mouth weaving such a powerful spell that Urahara didn't realize we was moving until he felt the slide of hair between his fingers. He started to pull away but Ichigo caught his wrist, keeping it in place, rolling his tongue along the vein pulsing in his mouth.

Urahara's head hit the desk and he squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of reiatsu surged through him, drowning him under the relentless onslaught of power and lust. Ichigo's sudden aggression and the brief struggle for dominance had brought his arousal to a razors edge. Ichigo let him slip free, sucking two fingers into his mouth, sliding a hand up the back of his leg. Urahara complied, drawing up his knee, hooking his heel on the edge of the desk to open himself in a silent plea.

Ichigo licked a hot trail up his thigh, teeth sinking in as his fingers drove hard into his shivering body. Urahara's yelp of surprise blended with a deep groan, his eyes rolling back as he thrust against the intrusion. He twisted, arching off the desk when Ichigo's searing mouth closed over his cock and those fingers curled toward that perfect, blinding spot.

"Please…" He shuddered on a series of hitched breaths, bucking as Ichigo's fingers pumped deeper into him.

Ichigo raised his head to meet the unfocused gaze, swallowing him as far as he could take him.

"Gods, please…" Urahara's head cracked against the wood, nails scoring tracks in the highly polished surface. "Harder…"

Ichigo gave his fingers an extra twist, drawing a choked cry as Urahara's knuckles went white. He reached down, sliding over damp flesh to grasp the back of his neck, pulling him into a crushing kiss. He dragged him off the desk, mouths clashing and nipping, tongues winding together, fast, heavy.

Urahara's hands were shaking as he tore at Ichigo's pants, ripping them open push inside. The younger man groaned, sucking on his tongue, spinning him roughly to face the desk. Urahara's palms slammed into the wood, echoing loud in the still air as Ichigo pushed him forward. He whimpered, head hanging low, damp hair trailing loose around his face.

Ichigo ran a hand up his spine, tracing over bone and flesh, sliding his fingers back into the heat of the waiting body. He leaned forward, teeth grazing the carefully mapped paths, holding him in place as the fingers pressed deeper.

"Gods…," Urahara choked, palms sliding against the desk as he pushed himself back. "Just do it."

The fingers twitched, faltering in their rhythm and Urahara turned in time to catch the uncertainty fluttering in those over-bright eyes. This was all for him, he saw it even through the haze of need, but whatever part Ichigo was playing, the fear of causing harm still remained.

"Stop," he ground out, writhing against the body pressed along his back. "You don't have to….ahhh…"

The amber burned dark as Ichigo's teeth dug into his shoulder, stinging the marks he'd left before. He straightened, gripping the back of the Urahara's neck, pressing him down until his arms collapsed. Urahara's mouth opened on a soundless cry as reiatsu seared through him, peppering his vision with dancing light.

"I'm gonna fuck you 'till you can't even scream," Ichigo growled, fingers driving deep and Urahara thought he might go mad from the pleasure-pained spike so close on the heels of that velvet thick tone.

Ichigo withdrew the hand from his neck, digging into the pocket of his unfastened jeans before kicking them into the corner. He flipped open a bottle of lube, pouring it liberally over his still moving fingers and along the length of his aching erection.

"Do you need it, Kisuke?"

Urahara felt like he could come from that voice alone. "Please…"

Ichigo slid against him, biting his lip as the ring of muscle gave way to the searing, pulling glide. Urahara bucked as the last of his sanity snapped, slamming into that lean body, tearing a shocked cry from his own gasping lips.

"Shit," Ichigo groaned, his fingers digging in to hold his body still.

Urahara pressed a hand to the desk, thrusting back hard, impaling himself with another yelping moan.

"Be careful," Ichigo choked, nails biting hard into tender flesh.

"Just fuck me," Urahara gasped, his eyes pleading for the things he could never speak aloud.

A whisper of understanding passed over Ichigo's face and his reiatsu flared hard, his head rolling back as he surrendered to the aggression coursing through his veins. His hips snapped forward, driving into the blond with a merciless fury, slamming him down into the desk. Urahara was lost, crying out wordlessly, his own reiatsu slipping through his splintering control. Ichigo's hand returned to his neck, holding him against the wood, demanding and rough.

"You're gonna scream for me," he growled, reaching around to stroke him hard, tearing a sharp cry from his burning throat.

"Gods, please…harder…," Urahara moaned, eyes squeezing shut against the knife-sharp pleasure spreading from Ichigo's vicious thrusts. He was frantic, riding the edge of release and some deeper, clawing thing hovering just beyond his reach.

"Let go," Ichigo demanded, staggering under the pull of his building need.

His hand twisted rough and fast, pumping Urahara ruthlessly as he drove into him with flawless, brutal aim. Urahara cried out again, trembling uncontrollably, begging for the end on every gasping breath. Ichigo bit his lip hard, yanking him up, fingers tightening painfully in tangled strands of hair.

"Fucking let _go_," he snarled savagely, teeth tearing deep into the blond's already marred shoulder, reiatsu slamming through his twisting body.

Urahara screamed, broken and wild, his spine bowing sharp as he came over Ichigo's hand. He felt his soul tear free, every thought and care washed clean in a moment of blinding light that left him dizzy and gasping.

Ichigo hissed, his whole world narrowing until it existed solely in the heat and pulse and grip. He wrapped an arm around Urahara as he started to sway, holding him upright as he surrendered to his release with a drawn out groan.

"Fuck, Kisuke," he gasped breathlessly, lips sliding over the back of his neck. He pulled free from the nearly limp body, still reeling from the aftershocks, hands moving to turn him gently. "Are you okay?"

The rough edge of a tooth had torn into Urahara's shoulder and a thin ribbon of blood mixed with the beaded sweat, trailing over his collarbone, vivid and angry. Ichigo dragged his eyes away and back to his face, shaking him softly when he didn't answer.

"I…" Urahara looked dazed, panting shallow and uneven.

He edged away from Ichigo and eased carefully onto the desk, lowering himself trembling to stare at the ceiling. His heart was racing painfully in his chest; his blood singing thought his veins like a cleansing fire that threatened to burn him alive. He felt the fear and helplessness, the rage and agony all clawing at his eyes in a bid to be free. Somewhere behind them, in the aching darkness, the cold loosed its claws.

His breath hitched tight in his throat, shuddering past his lips as he felt the damp slide of bitter heat roll down his temple. He raised a hand but Ichigo was faster, catching the glittering droplet on his finger and spreading it slowly with the pad of his thumb. Urahara let his eyes slip closed as the answering tear painted a trail to vanish amidst his tangled hair.

Ichigo crawled onto the desk, hovering on hands and knees, spent and exhausted. He leaned down; resting on his forearms so their foreheads could touch, tracing his thumb over the nearly invisible path. Urahara drew a shaky breath, unable to choke back the slow roll of tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes still closed. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Ichigo accused softly, "you're fucking lying, just like you always do."

Urahara's lashes swept up, glittering wet as he stared at the younger man in silent confusion.

"You don't have to be strong all the time," Ichigo murmured, fingers trailing through his hair, "but you won't let anyone in and it makes me crazy."

"I'm not lying to you, Ichigo," he soothed gently, still trying to slow his fluttering heart. "I'm fine."

"This isn't fine." Ichigo's eyes darted to the torn, bloodied flesh and back again, searching his face.

"I think I'm just overwhelmed by your sexual aptitude." The easy smile slid back into place, his hands tracing slowly over Ichigo's ribs.

"Stop doing that," Ichigo snapped, leaning in to kiss him hard and pulling back with a glare. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to fall for your smartass shit all the time?"

"I don't think I've ever been kissed in reprimand," Urahara mused quietly, letting his smile fall away. "No, I don't think you're stupid, but you don't need _my_ problems added to your own."

"But they're not your problems," Ichigo bit out angrily. "They're my problems, and Kon's problems, and Karin's, and my fucking dad's, and the bullshit Shinigami's. You can't just keep smiling all the damn time and saying it going to be fine like it doesn't bother you."

"Of course it bothers me." Urahara frowned, still tracing patterns over Ichigo's skin. "But I don't react to stress in the same way you do."

"Bullshit!" He growled, "then what the fuck was all this?"

Urahara sighed, his eyes falling shut once again. He'd been letting himself slip too far and he knew it, but there'd been little he could do to stop the slide. He'd never expected Ichigo to approach him like this, and in his moment of weakness he'd cracked, succumbing to the call of such a willing outlet. He recognized now this had been Ichigo's intent, thought he wondered if he truly understood what he'd been offering. The fact that he had taken advantage of such a thing, no matter how freely given, was a selfish abuse.

More troubling still was the inkling suspicion of another hand at play, the stir of something lurking behind the watchful amber gaze. Ichigo's eyes had since faded, leaving only worry in the chocolate-tinted depths, but the heavy swirl of reiatsu remained. He believed Ichigo when he said he was in control, that they had been alone, but at least a part of that aggression had been drawn from somewhere deeper.

Ichigo rose, slipping into his jeans, going in search of a towel to wipe away the blood. Urahara watched his retreating back, wanting to know but afraid to ask, needing to speak but unsure what truths the words might bring. His lips parted before he truly decided, his voice slipping free through his still broken control.

"Shiro."

Ichigo stilled in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. He was silent for a moment, but the coil of dark reiatsu was enough to tell the former captain he wasn't being ignored.

"What do you want, Demon?" Shiro's voice was still higher than Ichigo's, but as their powers had grown more closely twined it had lost much of its distorted, eerie resonance

"Did you tell him to do this?" He asked softly, ignoring the barbed epithet. The hollow had called him that since the first time he released his bankai in front of Ichigo, he was used to it by now.

"No." Shiro spat irritably, though it was hardly a shade of his former hostility. "I just made the suggestion when he came to me asking for it."

"Why would he do that?" There were a hundred deeper questions behind those simply spoken words.

Shiro shrugged, a gracefully awkward flutter that Urahara would have called uncomfortable if he believed the hollow capable of such a thing. "You needed to fall and he didn't know how to push you."

"And you did?" It was more a statement than a question.

Shiro shrugged again, sill facing into the hall, and there was a definite edge to it the second time around.

"Everyone needs someone to fall on," he murmured, low and cryptic, something indefinable tinting his vaguely haunting tone. "Maybe he wants to be that for you."

Urahara didn't reply, staring at the familiar shoulders as he considered the deeper implications. Ichigo and his hollow has come to an understanding long ago, and it wasn't unheard of for him to seek his advice. Something in the war had tempered him, burning his rage to a slowly rolling boil, though it had never been clear what had wrought such a change. Still, it was unlike him to offer aid for no reason; his tolerance of them had never bordered on true fondness.

"What are you looking for?" He wondered aloud, trying to guess at the larger picture.

Shiro sighed moodily, staring up at the ceiling, one finger tracing idly over the pattern in the wood and Urahara winced, realizing how much he was giving away in the uncontrolled flutter of his still leaking reiatsu. He drew a slow breath, trying to soothe his barriers and Shiro sighed again, shaking his head faintly.

"You remind me of someone," he said finally, the emotion hard to read in his not quite human voice. "He believed that to allow someone to see behind his careful exterior was a terrible weakness; that to share his insecurities was a mark of his failure. He was a coward, who couldn't let go of all the asinine duty and self-righteous bullshit even for all the right reasons."

He paused, seeming strangely subdued in some faraway thought, and Urahara remained silent, questions spinning in his mind.

"You seem different, though. I don't think you're holding yourself back because you're trying to prove something. I think it's just been so long that you can't let go without being forced."

"So this was a lesson in how to let go?" Urahara's voice had a sharp edge as he pushed himself up on the desk

"No, you dumb fuck, you're not paying attention," he snapped, his tone taking on a condescending lilt. "He had to _force _you let go, and I was the only one who'd tell him how to do it."

He paused, rolling his neck, head tilted slightly as though listening to something only he could hear. His hand rose to his temple, massaging it gently, drifting through his wild hair before falling to rest once more at his side. He shook his head again, growling rough under his breath.

"There's no _lesson _here, except maybe for the king. You already knew what you needed, but you couldn't bring yourself to ask."

"Because it's wrong," Urahara bit out, the earlier guilt still burning in his gut. "It's not fair to put that on him."

"Fuck your little dream world, life's not fair." Shiro's voice was cold as glass. "He knew what he was asking for; he wanted this."

"Even if he did that doesn't make it right." He ran a hand over his face the stress of the day giving way to fatigue.

"Same old bullshit," Shiro muttered darkly, studying the wood beneath his fingers. "You should be thankful it was so willingly given."

"He doesn't need my weakness on his shoulders." The words were laced with weary bitterness.

"Demon-_chan,"_ Shiro rolled the name slowly, mockingly, turning finally to meet his eyes. "Burying your fear and pain until they destroy you isn't strength. What good will you do any of them when you finally break?"

He let his gaze roam over the former captain, assessing, calculating as the weight of his words sank into every open wound. Urahara's fingers bit into the wood, brow furrowing painfully as the worries once again whispered hateful in his ears. Shiro paused, liquid gold and black searing turbulent grey-green, and something worn and tired danced through his alien eyes. The smirk faltered on his lips, trickling away like water through sand until he stood as quiet and serious as the other man had ever seen him. He looked almost sad for a brief, fleeting instant.

"The king's more resilient then you think, and your endurance is not as limitless as you would like to pretend. You should choose your battles more carefully while you still can; you're going to need that willpower intact someday soon."

He turned, the gold already fading from his eyes, and a moment later Ichigo passed from the room leaving Urahara alone with his inner demons and more questions than he'd had before the first words were spoken.

**(*)**

Ichigo sat in the middle of the empty lot, tracing idly through the recently scorched earth with the end of a broken stick. Night had long since fallen, the air settling heavy over buildings and trees, drifting lazily through the gently humming darkness. Behind him, the soft glow of life poured faintly across the ground from the half repaired hole in Urahara's shop.

Sometimes, when it was dark like this and everyone else had gone to bed, he like to just sit under the stars, to remind himself what it was like to be still and quiet. Some days it was hard to remember anything before this world of pain and loss. It was amazing how an entire lifetime could pass in just three short years, casting everything that had come before to some half-forgotten dream world.

It had taken awhile, but the rage and confusion were slowly ebbing away, leaving a trail of tired truths lying scattered in their wake. He'd been running, there was no way around it. He was running because he no longer knew how to live in a world he'd left behind three years ago. His human friends, his father, the carefree, easy shit, were all part of a life that felt like a lie. It grated on him, torturing him with memories of simpler times forever gone beyond his reach.

Nothing in this shadow world would ever burn as bright as Urahara's tired smile that didn't touch his eyes, or Karin's steely loyalty flickering twisted in her soul. Nothing cut as deep as Kon's silent agony under the easy slide of charm, or the dream for a better world fading from Hitsugaya's soul. These were the people for whom he had bled, and now, in the end, he was letting them all down.

He _had _been running, he knew that, and he'd been reckless with those lives who had believed in his resolve. He'd given little thought to any long term plan, too lost the need to escape what he no longer wished to feel. There were prices to be paid for such short-sighted indulgence, and now others were suffering when those payments came due.

There were other factors at play, of course; other people's actions that were far beyond his control. He had to admit, though, when it all came down to it, there were things he wished he'd done differently. He had pulled their lives apart with impulsive abandon, and all the apologies in the world couldn't take that away. Life was a real bitch sometimes, but he couldn't hide forever. The self-reflection always caught up in the end.

Ichigo heard the crunch of gravel and felt a slight thrill of apprehension. He owed Urahara more than he could ever repay and with him, at least, there were certain things he though he understood. It had been so fucking simple in theory; catch him off guard, don't give him time to recover, push him past his limits until the mask slid away. Three easy steps which sounded so much cleaner without the pleading resistance or the doubt seeping in; without the blood, or the tears, or that trembling confusion on normally calm lips. The afternoon had started with the best of intentions, but he was pretty sure he'd fucked it up somewhere along the way. Things were never as easy as he wanted them to be.

"May I?" Urahara paused beside him, gesturing to an empty patch of dirt.

Ichigo snorted at the quiet theatrics, nodding a vague consent as the corner of his mouth twitched. The older man sank gracefully to the ground, draping his arm over a drawn up knee. He was barefoot and casual in a pair of cotton pants and a T-shirt that Ichigo though might be his own.

Urahara rolled his neck, tossing back his hair to stare up at the stars.

"I owe you an apology for earlier," he said, forgoing the winding banter that usually came so easily.

"Don't start with that," Ichigo muttered, jabbing a rock with the end of his stick. This was already going badly.

"You shouldn't have had to do something like that," he went on, the fatigue weighing heavier in his voice.

"Like what, be aggressive?" Ichigo dragged his fingers through his hair, frowning at the familiar profile in the faded light. "I think I'll survive the fucking trauma."

"You know that's not what I mean," Urahara sighed, turning to regard him with tired, serious eyes.

"Then what?" Ichigo demanded, frustration pulling his tone much sharper than he intended. "I'm the one who fucking started it; I knew what I was doing."

Something flickered behind the grey-green gaze, and Ichigo realized that the older man didn't quite believe him, or possibly it was that he _couldn't_ believe him. Yeah, this was _definitely_ fucked.

"You shouldn't have to do things you're uncomfortable with for the sake of my weakness," Urahara said regretfully, reaching out to brush over the younger man's cheek.

"I already told you I wanted it." Ichigo jabbed the stick viciously into the earth, gouging an ugly trail.

Urahara's hand curled over his, prying the makeshift weapon from his grasp and casting it into the night.

"I could feel your hesitance," he murmured, thumb tracing the marks scored deep across his palm. "It's not in your nature to be rough with your lover."

Ichigo couldn't suppress his shiver at the way the word rolled off the older man's tongue. He leaned forward slowly, fingers threading into soft strands of hair, bringing their lips together in a lingering kiss. Urahara's hand trailed up his arm, ghosting over his neck as some of the tension slipped from his frame. Ichigo pulled back, catching the pale gaze glittering softly in the faint light.

"Yeah, it was new, and maybe it's not what I usually go for, but that doesn't mean I didn't want it," he muttered quietly, fighting the urge to drop his eyes as the blush crept into his cheeks. "I was just nervous. I've never done anything like that before."

A whisper of surprise flickered through the older man, so achingly brief that Ichigo almost missed it all together. Urahara' hand slid higher, tracing over the dusting of color as his gaze raked the younger man's face with a wistful sort of meditation.

"I still shouldn't have put you in that position," he said finally, censure and guilt outweighing whatever peace the words had to offer.

Ichigo blew out an agitated breath, dropping his head against Urahara's shoulder. All the shit he wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, twisting together, and it was pissing him off.

"You're there every fucking time I need you, telling me all this shit's going to be okay and that I don't have to worry." He snapped back up, spearing the older man with look of frustration. "Why won't you let me do that for you?"

"It's complicated, Ichigo." Urahara kissed him gently, fingers drifting over the curve of his jaw. "There are things that aren't fair for me to ask of you."

"Fuck fair!" Ichigo bit out, hands fisting in the front of Urahara's shirt. "Do you think any of the shit I've done to you is fair? Do you think any of our lives are fair right now?"

Taking without giving wasn't part of his nature, but he knew on some level that was exactly what he was doing. He'd crashed Urahara's whole life down around them both, drowning him under a relentless torrent of shit just for the sake of a little distraction. Urahara should have hated him for it, but the older man simply smiled through the pain and dragged him back up every time he slipped. Some days Ichigo despised himself, but he just couldn't bring himself to walk away from the memory of life he could taste on that perfect, pale skin.

Urahara sighed, arms sliding around Ichigo's lithe frame. He tugged at him gently, drawing the younger man to straddle his lap as he shifted to accommodate him. They stared at each other for a moment and Urahara smiled faintly, brushing his nose over Ichigo's cheek, trying to ease the tension coursing rough beneath his skin

"Life's general unfairness shouldn't be an invitation for me to engage in my own," he reasoned, the words tickling soft against Ichigo's ear.

Ichigo leaned into the touch, head tilting away as the mouth moved slowly down his neck. He could feel the irritation burning away, sliding through his fingers under that practiced, soothing glide.

"I can feel it when you're worried," he whispered, his eyes haunted with seriousness far beyond his years. "You fucking smile and laugh and say it's all gonna to be okay, but I can still feel it, even if you don't want me to."

Urahara gaze drifted upward, a wry smile lingering tired on his lips. "I must be slipping."

"I don't know," Ichigo's voice was soft, barely carrying in the stillness of the thick, night air. "It's like with all the shit we've been through over the years I just sorta _learned_ you or something. Before we started fucking I could still tell things, even when you shut it all down. Now it's like I can _feel_ you tearing yourself up inside just so everyone else doesn't have to worry. I can tell when you're lying even if you smile like you fucking mean it."

"I'm not _lying_," Urahara protested, kissing him gently, fingers moving slowly over his spine.

"You are," Ichigo whispered against his lips, eyes shining faintly beneath his half closed lids. "You're just pushing everything down and then faking like you're fine."

"I don't want you to have to worry about me," he murmured, pale brows pulling together as he met that searching gaze.

"Fuck that," Ichigo shot back. "Stop worrying about me, and the Shinigami, and my fucking dad if it's all so easy."

Urahara sighed ruefully, letting his forehead rest against Ichigo's. "I suppose you have a point."

"You can't always save everyone." He raked a hand through his bright hair, fingers twisting in the strands at his nape.

"That's quite a statement, coming from you," Urahara pointed out mildly, detangling the hand and pulling it gently to his lips.

"You're tearing yourself up over shit that's not your fault." Ichigo felt something squeeze in his chest as the blond's lips brushed over each finger in turn. "I didn't mean to drop this shit on you, and now it's like you think you're failing if you can't make it right."

Urahara paused, a fraction of a heartbeat, before moving to press a kiss into Ichigo's palm. His mask was still slipping, his emotions fluttering ragged behind the cracks in his control.

"You just can't let anyone past your fucking smile." Ichigo's eyes mirrored the loneliness haunting the answering, pale gaze. "Not even when it starts to drag you down."

"It's complicated," he repeated sadly, the weight ages hanging on the softly spoken words.

"Then let me help you," Ichigo pleaded, pulling his hand free to press against his jaw.

"Are you trying to save me, Ichigo?" Urahara's tone was gently, but his eyes were more serious than they'd been in centuries.

"Maybe I am," he admitted, voice dipping low as his thumb slid to trace the curve of his ear.

Ichigo could feel the whisper of longing twisting faint beneath his gaze, and he couldn't bear it. His reiatsu rose between them, shivering electric through his veins, pressing out to flutter over the former captain's skin. Urahara gasped faintly, chin tilting up as he let it wash over him.

"Don't," Urahara breathed, fingers pressing gently to Ichigo's lips, brows drawn together with a pained sort of desire. "That technique isn't something you can play with just to distract yourself. Forgive me, Ichigo, but I don't think I could bear it right now."

Ichigo could feel the tremor in the softly fleeting touch, tingling against his skin as the hand fell away. There was a sort of wounded yearning lingering in his eyes, stirring past the edges of his tenuous control. The scars ran deep beneath his far too easy smile, drowned under layers of lazy, practiced charm. Too many things seen that could never be forgotten, too many years spent alone, believing he couldn't afford to slip.

"I'm not playing with you, Kisuke." His tone pleaded for understanding, drawn by the call of that familiar, aching pain. "I just want to make things better."

The anguish still spun in Urahara gaze as Ichigo closed the space between them, thumb stroking his neck as their lips brushed together.

"I want you to be able to tell me when the shit's wearing you down." His teeth danced soft across breath stirred skin.

"To ask for help when you need it." The reiatsu rose around them, hair drifting lightly on its tingling, phantom breeze.

"And to let me drag you over the edge if you can't drag yourself." His mouth slanted over Urahara's, tongue sliding deeper to beg a gentle reply.

Urahara let his eyes slip closed, surrendering for a movement before reluctantly pulling free.

"Why?" He whispered searchingly as he traced over Ichigo's back. "Why would you ask for that?"

"Because I understand," Ichigo's eyes bored into him, flickering in the dim light. "I have that same shit pulling at me all the fucking time, telling me I'm letting everyone down and that I'm never enough. If you hadn't been there for me I would've just pasted a fucking smile on my face and slid by so no one would worry."

Urahara nuzzled him gently, the whisper of fatigue sinking deeper in his eyes.

"So you have me all figured out, do you?" There was no trace of teasing in his quiet, weary tone.

"Fuck no, but I get this." Ichigo growled. "There are a thousand fucking things I can't do anything about, but at least I get this."

"Sometimes just understanding isn't enough," Urahara said wistfully, smoothing his fingers over the younger man's frown.

"Dammit," Ichigo swore. "What is it you think I'm missing? Do you think I don't know what it's like to want to feel a little pain sometimes, just to break the dying feeling? I fight hollows with my bare fucking hands, Kisuke! Don't look at me like I don't understand, don't you fucking dare."

He caught Urahara's hand, fingers biting deep as he dragged it away from his face.

"Do you think I don't know what it means be that for you? If you need to fall then fall, if you need to rest then close your fucking eyes already. If you need someone to hurt you until you remember how to let go then let me fucking do it! I don't care if it's fucked up, because I get it. I fucking get it, Kisuke, do you understand?"

Urahara winced softly, a torn indecision flickering through his eyes. "I do, Ichigo, its just-"

"Fuck, Kisuke, let me have this for myself if you can't let me do it for you!" He was nearly shouting, voice trembling rough with confused emotion. "I fucking need this, too, and you're just making it harder.

His pleading eyes burned into Urahara, alive with fire and determination, passion and hurt. Everything they'd been through, every unspoken wish, every half-forgotten hope for a long gone future, spun between them on the breath panting hot across his lips.

"So now this is about you, not me?" Urahara asked slowly, gaze drifting over his flush stirred face.

There was a shadowy conflict raging in the depths his eyes, and Ichigo felt something sinking deep in his chest. Urahara sighed, his shoulders drooping faintly as he fell onto his back, oblivious to the dirt and jagged, scattered gravel. His arm slid over his face, burying his eyes in the curve of his elbow as his jaw clenched tight against some unknown thought.

The sinking feeling spread, twisting with guilt as Ichigo leaned forward, hands resting in the dirt, head hanging low. There was so much chaos racing is his head and he just couldn't seem to get his thoughts to come out right. He was fucking it up again, making it worse.

"Kisuke," he murmured, not knowing what to say, but the older man cut him off.

"Gods, you're so manipulative sometime," he breathed, lips twitching faintly in the soft wash of moonlight.

"I'm sorry," Ichigo whispered, defeat pressing him deeper into the warmth of the body below. "I didn't mean it like that."

Urahara shifted his arm, catching the gaze hovering just inches above his own.

"And you call me a liar," he accused mildly, amusement simmering deep in the shadow of his eyes.

"Are you fucking laughing?" Ichigo gaped at him, reeling under his shock and struggling to catch up.

Urahara ignored his outburst completely, moving his arm aside to stare up at the younger man. One pale brow twitched upward, meeting that wide, incredulous gaze.

"Let me see if I have this clear," he began softly, the ghost of a smile on the corners of his mouth. "You would like me to allow you to do certain _things_ to me, in hopes of _forcing_ me to achieve some level of peace I could not otherwise experience."

Ichigo started to open his mouth but the blond shook his head, placing a finger over his slightly parted lips.

"You would like me to do this," he continued," not for my own sake, which would be an unforgivable betrayal of my desire not to burden you, but for _your_ sake, as a means of allowing you to feel proactive about one of the issues plaguing your life. Does that about cover it, or am I leaving something out?"

"It didn't really come out right," Ichigo mumbled against the obstruction.

Urahara's hand slid to cup his jaw, thumb replacing his finger to trace the fullness of his lip.

"I think it came out perfectly," he assured him, the smile burning brighter as his voice began to tremble. He shook his head slowly, as if the whole thing was just too much, and then he laughed, unrestrained and brilliant.

"Does this mean I'm winning?" Ichigo ventured, feeling a little dazed by the warmth in his eyes.

"I'll think about it," Urahara chuckled, dragging Ichigo's lip with the pad of his thumb. "For _your_ sake."

Ichigo's head tilted slightly, brows drawn together with wary incredulity.

"That's so fucked up," he whispered with morbid fascination, leaning in to catch the lingering smile.

"We all have out moments," Urahara murmured against his lips, still laughing softly into the kiss.

**(*)**

Urahara ran a towel through his damp hair, staring at his hazy reflection in the mirror. The marring on his shoulder stood out in harsh relief, the faint shadow of a bruise already forming around the marks. He ran the tips of his fingers gently over the area, relishing the slight sting, shivering at the memory of Ichigo's reiatsu on his skin.

Reiatsu techniques like that were extremely uncommon, requiring both a large amount of power and exceptional control. It was nearly unheard of in someone as young as Ichigo, even at the crude level he had employed. The former captain would have been surprised if there were 50 people alive who could accomplish it at all, and maybe half that could use it properly. He couldn't help but wonder where Ichigo could have learned it, especially considering his innocence prior to their time together.

He shook his head, realizing the mirror held no answers, and returned his attention to sorting out his hair. They'd retreated inside shortly after conversation failed them, but he'd still managed to collect a fair amount of debris. One of the inevitable consequences of lying around in the dirt, he supposed, toeing the bedroom door open as he worked his fingers through a stubborn tangle.

"Are you really gonna think about it?"

Urahara eyed Ichigo through a curtain of darkened hair, digging though a drawer for a clean pair of pants.

"I said I would," he reminded him, coming to kneel at the edge of the futon.

Ichigo pushed up on his elbows, a frown marring his features as he studied the older man. The corners of Urahara's eyes softened and he reached out, trailing his thumb over the familiar lines, tracing the worry that lingered there. Why this, of all things, would mean so much to Ichigo was beyond him, but it was obvious that it did and that he wouldn't let it go easily.

"I'll think about it," he promised again, closing the distance to kiss him gently.

Ichigo leaned into him, tongue sliding out to trace the seam of his lips, inviting him closer, deeper. Urahara smiled faintly, letting himself be drawn in, relishing his unique taste as they moved together. Fingers mapped the couture of his ear as Ichigo kissed him with a languid, subtle grace, moaning softly into his mouth. They fell back lazily and Urahara let his weight settle onto the younger man, burying his hands in the tangle of bright hair, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

Ichigo shifted, nipping at his lips as he pulled back to stare at him.

"You really are fucking stubborn," he murmured, tucking a pale lock behind Urahara's ear.

"And you really are a horrible influence," the older man assured him, lips curving softly as he kissed the tip of his nose.

Ichigo snorted, but his eyes warmed faintly as his own smile threatened. Despite all odds, he seemed to have found some shred of calm in the tatters of the emotionally overwrought day. Urahara had always been amazed by the sheer force of will the younger man exuded, facing both the possible and impossible with the same level of tenacity. Even after he'd learned that he couldn't always win he'd still pushed on, surprising them all at every turn. More often than not he seemed to find a way, tearing apart the perceptions of how the world should work, just as he had today. Urahara tilted his head musingly, eyes narrowing a fraction of an inch as some of the earlier questions tickled across his thoughts.

"I'll admit," he said quietly, fingers trailing down Ichigo's throat. "I was caught off guard by _this._"

Ichigo gasped as the slow burn of reiatsu crawled up his spine, a wave of liquid pleasure licking through his body until his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Fuck," he panted brokenly as the lingering tremors passed, head falling limp against the pillow. "Is that what I did to you?"

"No," Urahara murmured softly, eyeing him with an odd curiosity. "Touch-based techniques are considered fairly casual. What you did earlier was a good deal more powerful, and far less gentle."

It was also generally reserved for more sadomasochistic play, but that was a different matter entirely and he didn't feel like addressing it at the moment.

He eased his weight off Ichigo, propping his cheek on his fist as he settled in beside him. Pale fingers traced over still flushed skin and Ichigo arched off the bed, teeth set against a whimpering cry as the reiatsu washed over him.

"Gods, you're so sensitive," Urahara breathed. "I'd almost believe you'd never felt it before."

"Only once," Ichigo groaned, eyes squeezing shut. "A long time ago, and not that rough."

Urahara frowned softly as he brushed over Ichigo's stomach, drawing a moan at the friction of flesh on flesh.

"It feels like I'm on fire," Ichigo shuddered, his tone dark with lust.

"It over-stimulates the nerves," Urahara explained, studying him with a perplexed sort of amusement. "You've really only felt it once?"

"Yeah," Ichigo slurred, shaking his head a couple of times to break the thickening haze. "Juushirou explained it to me, and then I asked him to show me because it sounded so unreal. He did, but only for a couple seconds. He said he wouldn't be able to stop if he went on any longer and he said I was still so young, even though I didn't feel young anymore. Gods, I didn't want him to stop, but he just shook his head and kissed me again."

A dusting of color seeped into Ichigo's cheeks, the echo of a blush dredged up on the ghosts of memory.

"I can still feel it sometimes, even after everything that's happened."

Urahara's surprise showed faintly he mulled over these revelations. Rumors of Ukitake's reiatsu control had bordered on Shinigami legend, but so had his reputation for being reluctant when it came to sharing his skills. It was likely that Ichigo would never know what he'd meant to a man with whom he'd spent only a few brief hours on that final moonlit night. Urahara felt the sting of grief, mourning the loss of so many scattered dreams.

"I heard he was amazing," he murmured, gliding up the curve of Ichigo neck.

"Yeah." Ichigo's smile was sad, his eyes staring wistfully at the rivers of the past. "He really was."

"It's remarkable that you grasped the technique, considering your limited exposure," Urahara admitted, running his fingers over Ichigo's lips.

He drew up short as Ichigo snorted, blowing out an annoyed breath as his gaze snapped back into focus.

"I'm total shit at it." He rolled his eyes, looking vaguely put out by his own admission. "Shiro had to show me what to do, and I _still_ couldn't manage it without borrowing his control."

Urahara shook his head in mild exasperation; at least that explained the strange, amber eyes. The hollow's reiatsu control had always been better than Ichigo's, and it had increased dramatically once he mastered his frenetic rage. This wasn't the first time Ichigo had called on such a resource, though he usually reserved it for more dire situations.

"I suppose I should be grateful that between the two of you there exists enough control not to have driven me insane," he muttered dryly, though in truth it was a real concern. Channeling high levels of reiatsu in such an intimate manner could be a dangerous business, especially with someone who was relatively untrained.

Ichigo growled in annoyance, a surly little sound in the back of his throat, though it seemed to be directed elsewhere.

"Give me a week." His chin tilted up, the challenge sparking in his narrowing eyes. "I'll figure it out."

"In a week?" An eyebrow arched delicately, nails skimming over the rise of his hipbone. "Unlikely, even for you."

Ichigo's breath hitched hard, his head falling back to expose his throat.

"Fuck, that touch thing's amazing," he gasped raggedly, blood pounding wildly under every inch of skin. "That's what I wanted him to teach me, but he wouldn't. He's still so pissy about this reiatsu shit."

Urahara chuckled, staring down at his own hand as he ran his thumb over the pads of his fingers. "It's not as easy as it looks."

"Yeah, I know," Ichigo grumbled, sounding like he'd heard it all before. "My control fucking sucks, I get it."

"You're just inexperienced," Urahara consoled him, wondering what taunts he'd endured for the sake of the hollow's assistance. "I'm sure even _he_ couldn't manage this level of refinement, regardless of what he may have claimed."

"What are you…?" The words cut short as something passed over Ichigo's face, a brief spark of confusion followed by a briefer flash of comprehension. "Oh, shit."

Urahara stilled, feeling a tingle of foreboding as he watched Ichigo's mind spin to life behind his sharpening gaze. There was something there in that half-spoken thought, some dredged up remembrance that had almost slipped free. Their eyes met briefly and Ichigo winced, as though something inside had caught up to his mouth and was less than pleased.

"Um, Shiro's not really _guessing_ with this shit," he said slowly, as though hunting deliberately for just the right words. "I know it can be dangerous; I wouldn't have tried it if I didn't know he wouldn't let me hurt you. He's pretty fucking amazing, actually."

Urahara's brows drew together as something clicked in his mind. Ichigo hadn't simply been borrowing his hollow's control; he had been relying on him, at least in part, to regulate the flow of reiatsu. He'd been depending on him to keep the situation in check. For the hollow to be able to accomplish such a thing, especially without direct involvement, would require an astonishing level of finesse. Too much finesse for a few seconds of exposure.

"How could he have developed that level of skill?" He asked carefully, the frown pulling deeper as the younger man winced again.

Ichigo dropped his eyes to the edge of the blanket, fingers pulling absently at a stray piece of thread. His teeth dragged over his lower lip, drawing it into his mouth, worrying it gently as he shook his head. He was hiding something, that much was obvious, as was his knowledge that he'd cornered himself.

"How do you get good at anything, Kisuke?" His gaze slid reluctantly higher, meeting Urahara's with a shrewd sort of resignation. "You practice."

"Practice?" Urahara repeated slowly, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

"Yeah," Ichigo confirmed, mouth pulling ruefully at the corner.

"On who?" Urahara asked incredulously, feeling like he was drifting in the ether. The hollow had very little contact outside of Ichigo, especially after the war had ended. "When?"

"It's really fucking complicated," Ichigo grumbled, humor sparking faintly as fell back on the other man's words.

When it became apparent that Ichigo was not inclined to continue, Urahara fell silent to consider his options. He sank slowly into the futon, head resting against the curve of his arm as he tried to sort through the disjointed bits of information. There were still some large pieces that were missing from the puzzle, but some of the smaller fragments seemed to be falling into place. The hollow's tempered allegiance during the last part of the war, the settling of his previously unpredictable rage, the hint of memory drifting in his not quite hostile tone. It was all tied together in this strange little mess.

Urahara's brain tripped to a halt, sticking on a thought that he couldn't shake free. It seemed so unlikely with everything he'd known, and there was no possible way he could have missed such a thing, but his mind kept drifting toward the same unsettling conclusion.

"He had a lover at some point," he murmured to himself. _An extremely skilled one._

"No…well…not exactly," Ichigo amended hesitantly, rolling to face him with a look of torn frustration. "That makes it sound like he was fucking someone."

"Then what?" Urahara pressed gently, his tone laced with genuine confusion. "These techniques are extremely sexual."

"I told you, it's complicated," Ichigo repeated, the humor gone from his serious gaze. "And it's not my story. I wasn't there."

They studied each other for a long moment, grey-green skimming over closed-off brown. The signs were starting to show in the set of his jaw; Ichigo was bracing for the coming assault, determination radiating through the lines of his body. Old determination, Urahara realized distantly, loyalties steeped in trust that would not easily be undone. Some things didn't change, and Ichigo's tenacity once he really settled in was one of them. Urahara felt his smile start to threaten, conceding the lost cause as he brushed a kiss over those stubborn lips.

"You house such interesting secrets," he whispered, eyeing him with a vague sense of wonder and filing it away for another time. "Not a day goes by where I find myself bored."

"Whatever." Ichigo rolled his eyes, not quite able to hide the flicker of relief.

Urahara's mind was still reeling, but there was nothing to be done, at least for the moment. Whatever situations the hollow had encountered, Ichigo was neither ready nor willing to divulge the details. Still, for Ichigo not to be present would mean the hollow had taken him over completely. That was extremely dangerous, especially in the earlier days when their balance had still been tenuous at best. Urahara had a hard time believing he could have missed such a thing. It was incredibly fascinating, and equally troubling.

Ichigo edged closer in an attempt to distract him, the warm caress of lips brushing light over his jaw. He let his head fall back, accepting the offering, willing to let it go for the sake of their peace. The mouth slid wet over the point of his chin, working slow kisses down the curve of his neck. Urahara purred a sound of contentment as teeth dragging gently over sensitive skin. Ichigo's tongue darted out, tracing across his flesh, pressing into the marks he'd left in his shoulder. His mouth closed over the tender flesh, sucking gently, teasing a sting through the soft hum of pleasure.

Urahara groaned deep in his throat, threading into his hair to pull him closer. He shifted slowly, rolling Ichigo beneath him, rocking to meet his already straining erection. A moan drifted moist on their intertwined tongues as Ichigo's leg slid higher, hooking over his hip as they moved together. His hands roamed over Ichigo twitching body, fingers skimming lightly across a tightly coiled nipple as the barest hint of power drifting feather light between them.

"Why didn't you tell me you could do that?" Ichigo moaned, eyes slipping shut under the shuddering pulse.

"It's a terrible way to discourage someone from sleeping with you," Urahara pointed out smoothly, catching Ichigo's chin with the backs of his fingers. "Which, you may recall, I have been attempting to do."

"And now?" Ichigo's voice was thick, tongue darting out to wet eager lips.

"Now, there are many young ears very close at hand," he laughed softly, breath gliding hot over Ichigo's skin. "And it wouldn't encourage you to be quiet, either."

"Fuck." Ichigo panted, lust and frustration rolling off him in waves. "That's not fair."

"Life rarely is." Urahara's chuckle turned dark, rolling his hips one last, aching time. "Welcome to the newfound joys of parenthood."

* * *

**A/N:** You'll never guess who's NOT dead! So, it's been about two years since I've updated anything, which I **_do_** realize is a long time, by the way, and accept full responsibility for. Life, writers block and wayward muses seemed to all conspire against me there for awhile, but I have persevered (at least somewhat). A month or two ago I developed the urge to try to finish Shades, seeing as I have the entire outline for it already. For those who may be wondering about my other story, we shall see. I'm taking this one step at a time right now.

So, Chapter 8: I do recognize that, especially considering my long hiatus, certain aspects of this story will probably cease to be canon at some point. This was always going to be the case, it's simply the nature of our genre, so I hope when it happens no one will be too upset. Anyway, if anyone is still reading this, I truly appreciate your support, and I will strive for _**much**_ quicker updates in the future.


	9. Fade to Black

**Chapter 9 – Fade to Black **

Ichigo nudged a rock off the edge of the school roof, watching shrink away until it met the waiting concrete with a faint, unsatisfying click. The sun was bearing down mercilessly but he really didn't mind, he liked the solitude of the higher elevation. All around him students were scattered across the lawn, sheltered beneath sprawling trees to laugh and eat lunch, all smiles and ease. Ichigo shifted his gaze away, his head falling back as his eyes slid closed, letting the sun wash over him. It was better up here.

The air was quiet; the faint hum of the world below lost to the distance and the drifting breeze. He could almost pretend it had ceased to exist; that all the cares and worries had burned away with it. Peace was a concept he no longer understood, but a life without pain, without a constant, looming threat, was a hope still teasing at his battle-scarred mind. For a time he'd believed it could be found in silence, by pushing life away until nothing could touch him. He'd been wrong, in the end, he realized it now. The demons in his head would never be banished, and wandering in the dark was as brutal as a knife. Still, dragging the others down was a new kind of nightmare, one he'd scarcely fathomed in his headlong rush. It had opened his eyes to a lot of things, actually, and he wasn't really sure he liked what he was seeing.

"Not hungry today?" he asked softly, still watching the glow from behind his eyelids.

"I ate while I walked," Karin replied, stepping up next to him to stare down at the ground.

She was silent for a moment, lost to the world, though Ichigo could feel the agitation coiling around her. She sighed, toeing her own rock over the side without any real interest.

"Everything okay?" He asked quietly, turning to study the top of her head.

"Yuzu had some club meeting," she shrugged moodily, watching a bike coast lazily by. "I got bored, I guess."

His sisters' school was only 10 minutes from his own, but Karin usually preferred the park when she was in a wandering mood. She's been wandering a lot lately. Some days he could feel her out there, a fluttery little disturbance at the edge of his senses, but he left her alone. He understood better than anyone her need to seek solitude, as well as her desire, on occasion, to avoid it.

"How's she doing?" Ichigo sighed, easing out of his jacket and tossing it carelessly aside. "She looked a little down this morning."

"She's upset that she keeps missing dad's calls," Karin muttered, her voice tight with frustration and something undefined. "She's glad he's having fun, but it's been four days and she misses him. She misses home."

"Yeah," Ichigo blew out a rough breath, "I know."

Lying to Yuzu was hard on him, but it was far worse for her twin whom she trusted implicitly. The two of them had always been close, though their relationship was somewhat odd at times, and as the days dragged on each lie that fell from Karin's lips weighed a little heavier on her slender shoulders. She loathed every conversation about what he might be doing, hated smiling through her teeth at the talk of his return. They were winging it hard without any real plan, and a wall was looming in the very near future.

"Conference can't last forever," Ichigo muttered, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. "We'll be fucked in a couple days if we don't come up with something."

He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing at the fatigue settling into his brain. This was yet another example of his short-sighted bullshit coming back to haunt the people in his life. Everything he'd done was because he believed it to be right, but it was getting harder to tell the rage from the reason. The look in his father's eyes still haunted his waking thoughts, dragging the doubt through him normally iron resolve. Isshin had been wrong, of that he was certain; but unfortunately that didn't make him right by default. That was shit rationale, black and white logic, and nothing, it seemed, was ever that simple.

"Fuck him," Karin bit out, dragging him out of his brief reflection. Her jaw was jumping as her teeth ground hard, fingers curling into fists at her sides. "Maybe the train can just crash on the way home."

Ichigo snapped back to attention, caught off guard by the raw bitterness radiating through her voice and rising reiatsu. He knew she was wearing thin, they both were, but there was a darker sort of anger starting to course through the air. Anguish, despair, hatred.

"We can't just say he's dead," he frowned, the thought tearing at him more than he'd expected. "He'll slink back eventually and then it'll go to shit."

She trembled almost imperceptibly, a haunted, searing pain dancing through her eyes before she clamped down hard.

"He's not coming back," she hissed, nails digging deeper into her palms. "All the happy family bullshit fell apart, and now he's gone. It was all just a lie."

She turned away, dashing an arm angrily over her face, and Ichigo realized she was close to tears. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her cry, and it burned into him to watch her crumble. He suddenly understood that where he'd viewed their father's unexpected silence with a measure of relief, Karin had seen it as a final betrayal. No matter how angry or resolute she'd been, there was a still a part of her that had believed he would always come for them; that it could be like it was when everything was simple. Every hour that ticked by stripped a piece of her faith with it, dragging the last of her broken childhood away. She had believed in her father and he'd failed her, leaving her twisting in the darkening world.

Ichigo's heart ached as he slid an arm around her, pulling her into his chest, holding her tight as she started to shake. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head, swaying gently as he remembered his mother doing in the life before pain, when everything was okay.

"I love you," he whispered, wishing she'd never had to know this world. "I'll always love you, no matter what happens."

A sob hitched in her throat as she buried her face in the front of his shirt, her arms snaking around to hold him closer. He ran his fingers slowly though her hair, staring out over the town as her bitter tears seeped through to his skin. Everything in their world was fucked. It was wrong.

He didn't speak; he didn't have to. There were no words to take away all the things that had come before, and they both understood it. He let her cry silently, every tear a reminder of what should have been as it washed hot over him. He would have given anything in that moment to let her be free, even if it robbed him of the comfort of having her at his side. He would have suffered alone for the both of them if fate would permit it; but it wouldn't. It would never be that easy.

This was their lot in life, their path, their cosmic fucking destiny. She had always been his candle in the darkness, a twisted, flickering flame in the ever blurring shadows and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to either of them. Everything that had passed tasted like an ashen mockery of the peace he'd fought and bled for, and as he felt her trembling slowly start to subside he realized that sometimes fate just failed you, and all you were left with were those who suffered beside you. They were your anchor, and he would be that for her. He would be her shelter against the world for as long as he was able, until the final breath fell from his lips. Even if it meant sacrificing everything.

"Fucking pathetic," she mumbled sullenly, pulling back to examine the damage to his shirt.

"Don't talk like that," he admonished, letting his arms fall away to give her space.

She smiled faintly, turning away to wipe her face, and Ichigo realized what had to come next.

"He's just giving us all time to cool off," he muttered, the defense feeling awkward and leaden on his lips. "He'll show up in a couple of days."

She stilled for a second before forcing her body to move, the cover so seamless that he wouldn't have noticed if he didn't know her so well. A tiny spark of reluctant hope being forcibly crushed by residual anger. She couldn't afford hope, not in the face of so much uncertainty.

"What'll you do if he does?" She asked seriously, her reiatsu still stirring the air around them.

"I don't know," he said honestly, "but we'll work something out."

"Is that even possible?" She snorted, deliberately nonchalant as she studied the world below.

"Fuck it," he tossed out, catching her eye as she turned to look at him. "We'll _make_ it possible."

She nodded after a moment's hesitation, but he couldn't tell if she really believed or if she was just humoring him. He'd meant it, for his part; every word. For her sake he would strive to hear the man out, even if it grated on his every nerve to do so. He still didn't trust him, and he didn't know where it would lead, but to never again have to see her tears he would endure a hell of a lot worse than Kurosaki Isshin.

As the residual tension started to fade, Karin took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she ran her hand down her arm. She repeated the same process with the other arm, and Ichigo felt her agitation begin to still, her reiatsu settling back into her body.

"Your control's getting better," he noted, watching the ritual with a degree of interest.

"Yeah, well, Tessai's been teaching me a little Kidou," she admitted quietly, eyeing him covertly to gage his reaction.

"Kidou?" Ichigo looked surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah." She shrugged, like it was no big thing. "He said it'll help me understand my reiatsu better, so that maybe I can stop flailing it around all the time."

"Probably a good thing," Ichigo agreed, thinking back on the problems his own powers had caused. "It's not dangerous, is it?"

Karin rolled her eyes, giving him a longsuffering look.

"It's Tessai," she reminded him dryly. "It's not like he's gonna cut my chain of fate and throw me in a pit or something."

Ichigo cocked an eyebrow, acknowledging the point. Sometimes he wondered if it had been a mistake to tell her about some of Urahara's more colorful methods. It undermined his credibility at times like these.

"I bound Jinta for a minute and a half yesterday," she continued, her eyes lighting faintly as the pride shone through. "And then I healed the cut he got on his head when he fell after the binding."

Ichigo snorted, lips twitching up at the corners. "I bet he was fucking thrilled."

"He whines less when Tessai gives him _the stare_," she smirked.

Ichigo shook his head with a chuckle. A part of him wished they could lead a life where his sister didn't even know what kidou was, but there was no going back and it seemed to make her happy to learn.

"Just be careful," he urged, sliding into his big brother role. "It can be pretty dangerous, especially the destruction shit."

"I know," she said softly, wisps of fond longing drifting in her tone. "I've only tried a few of those, but I definitely wouldn't point 'em at Jinta."

His brows pulled gently as he ran an assessing eye over her. "You any good?"

"Tessai says I have _natural talent_, whatever that means." She turned to watch the clouds, trying to sound like she didn't care, even though he could see the pleasure glowing in her face. "Yesterday I got a '_you truly are Kurosaki Ichigo's sister'_ out of him."

Ichigo felt his frown deepen at the strange choice of words. He was shit at kidou, having never spent much time with it, so for Tessai to make such a comparison meant he was referring to something else. Feeling faintly apprehensive he carefully unwound a bit of his hollow's reiatsu, reaching out to brush it lightly against her. She went rigid for a moment, jaw snapping shut before she took a breath and let her shoulders relax. She shifted, catching his searching gaze from the corner of her eye. She shook her head, giving him a significant and slightly reproachful look.

"I would tell you," she assured him quietly. "You'd be the first one I came to."

He nodded, withdrawing the reiatsu and slipping his arm back around her. She was two years younger than he had been when he showed his first signs of hollow power. There was a good chance that she would never manifest anything of the sort, but the possibility still remained, lingering below the surface. She was strong, he realized, not for the first time. Her reaction had been due to the foreign nature of the hollow's reiatsu, not from any inherent fear of its power. He smiled faintly. One of these days he was going to have to sit in on one of her kidou sessions.

"You going to be okay getting back to school?" he asked quietly, noticing the first stirring of activity from the world around them. The bell would be ringing soon; summoning him back to class and his make-believe life.

"Yeah," she muttered half-heartedly, glancing at her watch.

He gave her a final squeeze and bent to retrieve his coat, shaking the dust free. She was already halfway across the roof when she paused, staring down at the bag she'd discarded earlier.

"I love you, too, Ichi-nii," she whispered, glancing at him over her shoulder.

He smiled at her, bittersweet and sincere. "I know."

She nodded once and scooped up the bag, disappearing through the door and down the stairs. Ichigo hesitated a moment longer, vowing silently to find her a better life before following her path out of the sunlight.

**(*)**

"Their silence is unnerving," Urahara murmured, reclining against clay shingles to stare at the washed-out sky.

"Silence may be better than the alternative," his companion countered, opting to stand.

"We both know it's never that simple with the Shinigami," the former captain reminded him with a shrewd look.

Hitsugaya ran a hand through his hair but didn't bother to deny the charge.

"I haven't heard anything to suggest they'll take it further," he sighed instead.

It had been three days since he'd made his report, and two since the Commander General had dismissed him back to the human world. It had gone well, at least so it had seemed. He'd laid out his findings clearly and concisely and had been met with limited questions. The Commander General had seemed favorably inclined toward his opinions on the issue. He had reported back to Urahara with the optimistic hope that everything would be dropped in a matter of hours, and yet silence had persisted.

"Have you considered your position, should things go badly?" Urahara asked calmly, still watching the wisps of cloud pass by overhead.

"You can't ask me to choose sides with this," Hitsugaya's tone was tinged with irritation; "I'm a captain of one of the 13 Protection Squads."

"Your decisions are your own, Toushirou," Urahara said softly, "but sides have a way of forming, despite the best of intentions."

"They won't do it," Hitsugaya insisted, sounding as though he needed the assurance himself.

"It's a line that mustn't be crossed," Urahara agreed without really agreeing, his eyes so cold that even the ice captain felt the chill.

The sound of a door opening broke through their thoughts and they fell silent as the crunch of gravel grew nearer. Urahara sent the young captain one last, piercing look before a flash of movement brought another guest to their party.

"You better not let Yuzu see you up here," Ichigo warned, landing next to them with an easy grace.

Hitsugaya gave him a bored look and went back to his perusal of nothing in particular.

"How was school?" Urahara asked with a lazy drawl, squinting amiably up at him.

Ichigo just frowned, transferring his attention to Hitsugaya. "Have you heard anything yet?"

"No," the captain replied, staring out over the rooftops with an unreadable expression.

Ichigo's frown deepened as he muttered a string of curses, dropping to sit next to Urahara.

"It's probably a good sign," the blond assured him, catching his wrist and dragging him halfway across his chest. "They've most likely dropped the issue already."

Hitsugaya cocked an eyebrow at the comment but Urahara ignored him. He pulled Ichigo a little closer, running fingers through his wind stirred hair and down over the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

"You need to stop worrying about it," he sighed, his brows drawing together faintly. "They were just being ridiculous."

"You're lying," Ichigo sounded tired, shifting uncomfortably against the uneven tiles, "and _you're _worried."

"They'd be foolish to peruse it further." Urahara murmured, rubbing his nose along the younger man's jaw.

"When the fuck has that ever stopped them?" Ichigo huffed; brushing away the blond strands tickling his cheek.

"They won't do anything," Hitsugaya interjected, lowering himself grudgingly to sit next to Ichigo.

That he'd consented to join them was telling in itself, but for him to do so while they were sprawled in such an intimate position spoke volumes to how frayed his nerves were as well. Ichigo detangled himself from Urahara and rolled onto his back, reclining on his elbows between them.

"Fuck 'em," he said succinctly, staring straight ahead.

"Fuck them?" Hitsugaya asked, shooting him a reproachful look. "How is that constructive, Kurosaki?"

"It seems to be Ichigo's new motto," Urahara supplied, tucking an arm under his head. "I must say, it's starting to grow on me."

"Fuck 'em all," Ichigo repeated with more feeing, amused at having indirectly gotten the young captain to swear.

"I suppose it's better than worrying," Hitsugaya admitted reluctantly, though he still looked dissatisfied.

"Worrying ages you prematurely," Urahara pointed out, as if this should have some bearing on things.

"Must be why you still look so young," Ichigo smirked at the blond.

"Must be," Urahara agreed with a grin that almost reached his eyes.

Hitsugaya just shook his head, drawing a knee up to his chest and crossing his arms over it.

"Seriously, though," Ichigo's mood shifted back toward solemn, "What the fuck is wrong with people lately? First my dad starts giving me shit, then Yoruichi, and now the Shinigami. Why the hell can't everyone just leave me alone?"

"Maybe it's just your winning personality," Urahara offered, striving to keep the mood light.

Hitsugaya made a sound that may have been a choked-off snicker but when Ichigo shot him a look his face was neutral.

"Okay, so I sorta get my dad," Ichigo admitted after a few moments deliberation, "and Yoruichi just bought into his bullshit, but the Shinigami? That's just fucked up."

"It's not personal," Hitsugaya sighed, resting his chin on his arms.

"The hell it isn't," Ichigo bit out, jaw muscles jumping as he warred with his anger, "I gave you everything and it's like it doesn't matter. It's like you think I'm going to be the next fucking Aizen or something just because I won't lick your asses and play nice with my dad."

"No one thinks you're going to be the next Aizen." Urahara rolled over, placing a hand on the younger man's chest.

"That's exactly what they think," Ichigo growled, never looking away from Hitsugaya. "What the fuck more do I owe you people?"

"You know I don't want to be here," the captain replied tersely, turning his cheek against his arms to look down at Ichigo, "I don't like this any more than you do."

"But you _are_ here, Toushirou," Ichigo speared him with a hard look. "You're here spying on me and making reports even though you think it's wrong, just because someone _told_ you to."

"No, I'm here because I _volunteered_ to come, so that I could make sure the issue died," Hitsugaya enunciated slowly and clearly. "And I'm fairly certain it doesn't qualify as _spying_ when you tell the person exactly what's going on."

They held each others gaze for a long moment before Ichigo finally relented.

"Sorry," he sighed, running a hand over his face, "I know it's not your fault and that you're doing what you can. It's just fucked up."

"It is," Hitsugaya admitted freely.

"Be that as it may, you shouldn't let it bother you so much," Urahara insisted, his eyes masked against the tightly wound concerns spinning in his head. "Toushirou's report left no room to escalate the issue."

"You really think they'll drop it?" Ichigo asked, looking back to Hitsugaya.

"They're worried but they're not unreasonable," he replied after a thoughtful pause. "I can't believe they would sacrifice all we've built over an unfounded fear."

"I hope you're right," Ichigo said, his gaze still hard though some of the tension fell away, "for your sakes."

Urahara felt the familiar worry coil with a chill of foreboding. In the space between them, he saw something indefinable pass whisper fast through Hitsugaya's eyes as he continued to stare down at Ichigo.

"Are you afraid, Toushirou?" Ichigo asked quietly, having seen the look as well.

"No," the captain replied, so easily that Urahara almost believed he meant it, "just deciding how to take that."

Ichigo's face had gone blank and even though his gaze was still fixed on the smaller man, Urahara could feel the weight of it in the suddenly still air. Hitsugaya remained quiet and unblinking as though he were being tested but was unsure of the stakes. Finally, after an eternity or a second had passed, the tension broke as Ichigo smirked, rolling his neck to the left.

"Doesn't matter how you take it," he shrugged, "but I'd hate to have to kick all your asses again because you're being fuckwits."

"That _would_ be unfortunate," Urahara agreed dryly, relieved at the shift in mood.

Hitsugaya unfolded himself, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands. "Your ego still astounds me."

"You don't think I could do it?" Ichigo shot back at him, eyes narrowed in challenge.

"I think you're an idiot," the captain corrected with a faint snort.

"You know you wouldn't stand a chance," Ichigo dismissed, staring up into the sky.

"I don't believe we've ever fought seriously," Hitsugaya reminded him, looking vaguely thoughtful at the prospect.

"I'd take your ass on my worst day," Ichigo assured him lazily.

There was a beat; a moment in time where the roller-coaster mood could have gone either way, hinged entirely on a simple reply.

"You'd better not be propositioning me," Hitsugaya warned, his lips quirking slightly at the corners.

Ichigo blinked in astonishment, turning slowly to face him.

"Because I assure you," he continued with a smug tilt to his chin, "I'm really not interested."

"What the hell," Ichigo muttered, "you really _do_ have a sense of humor."

Hitsugaya gave him a longsuffering look before returning his attention to the scenery.

"Be careful, Toushirou," Urahara drawled, keeping to the lightness they were so desperately trying to maintain. "He has a certain seductive charm when he really puts his mind to it."

"Trust me, it's not nearly enough," Hitsugaya didn't bother to look at either of them.

Urahara chuckled and Ichigo, who was still reeling over _Hitsugaya_ _having a_ _sense of humor_, snapped back at the insult.

"What the hell does that mean?" he demanded, staring at the side of the deceptively youthful face.

Hitsugaya, for his part, just continued his study of the world as though he hadn't even heard him.

"Is it 'cause I'm a guy?" Ichigo prodded, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his fist. "Just doesn't do it for you?"

Hitsugaya finally spared a look down at him but didn't take the bait.

"Is it the human thing? Or maybe I'm just too powerful?" Ichigo smirked, warming to the topic. "You can't stand the thought that I really _could_ take your ass anytime, can you?"

Urahara chuckled again when Hitsugaya simply continued to stare at Ichigo as though he were some sort of perplexing lab specimen.

"Perhaps he doesn't find you attractive," Urahara suggested with a true grin.

Ichigo scowled, looking ready to drop it, but froze when Hitsugaya cocked an eyebrow, giving him a brief once-over before shrugging in a cryptically noncommittal sort of way. Ichigo was struck momentarily dumb for the second time in as many minutes. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd fallen asleep at some point and was currently wandering in some fanciful dream. A dream where the young captain not only possessed a subtly refined sense of humor but also managed to exude a sense of sexual awareness that belied his youthful appearance. On the down side, if Urahara's muffled snickering was any indication, should this _indeed_ prove to be a dream it was most likely going to be a nightmare.

"You want to know what it is, Kurosaki?" Hitsugaya's voice had taken on a smooth quality; a sort of dangerous, icy glide.

Ichigo struggled briefly with the almost overwhelming desire to say that he did _not_, in fact, want to know what _it_ was anymore. He was half convinced that the normally uptight captain had simply cracked under the stress of the last few years, while the other part of him nagged that Hitsugaya had to let his guard down sometimes and that possibly he was catching his first real glimpse. Of those two options, he wasn't sure which he found more disturbing.

Hitsugaya was still staring at him and Ichigo, never one to give up even when it was warranted, rose to the mocking challenge he read in those eyes. He pushed off the tiles, bringing them to near eye level, and cocked his head to one side.

"I'm too tall for you, aren't I?" he taunted.

"No." Hitsugaya actually looked mildly amused.

"Then what?" Ichigo demanded, one brow twitching skyward.

"Well, you were correct when you assumed that I'm not _particularly_ attracted men," he conceded, rolling the word 'particularly' like wine over his tongue. "However, more than that, I find you too immature for my taste."

"Immature?" Ichigo scoffed, "You're one to talk. You look 15 years old on your best day."

Even as he said it he realized it was only true if you didn't look the captain in the eyes. He wondered if he carried that same sense of tempered wear lingering behind his own gaze.

"I don't mean physical appearance," Hitsugaya corrected, a brief flash of teeth catching Ichigo off guard as he smiled. "I mean your general attitude, the way you interact with people, and your need to play these games."

Ichigo's smirk slipped, caught on the pull of some unknown whisper skirting the edge of the flowing banter.

"I'm not playing any games," he frowned, unsure of why he suddenly felt off balance.

"Yes you are," Hitsugaya accused softly, leaning forward to catch Ichigo's chin with slim fingers. "Even if you're not completely aware and it's only in jest."

"I'm only fucking with you." Ichigo caught hold of his wrist but made no move to pull him away.

"Exactly." Hitsugaya's smile danced between them again, a brief flicker with a predatory edge. He leaned forward; tilting his head, his cheek sliding so close that Ichigo could feel the heat pass between them. He applied a firm, coaxing pressure, tipping Ichigo's chin away as soft breath traced along the shell of his ear.

"You should be careful who you fuck with, Ichigo," he whispered, no louder than the passing breeze. "You have a tendency to underestimate people and that can be very, _very_ dangerous."

Behind Ichigo, Urahara sat up slowly, watching them in shrewd, contemplative silence. Hitsugaya locked gazes with him over Ichigo's shoulder and saw something flicker as he caught the words. Beneath his fingers he felt the faintest hint of a tremor along Ichigo's frame before the grip on his wrist tightened, drawing it free.

"You should be careful, too, Toushirou." Ichigo's voice was equally soft, laced with dark honey and tattered silk. His face was still turned, a dark fan of lashes hiding him from their scrutiny.

Urahara tensed subtly and Hitsugaya began to withdraw but Ichigo pulled him back, his other hand rising to slip through snowy hair, holding him in place. Deliberately, fluidly, he turned, nose sliding slow over the flawless skin, drawing back until they were inches apart. Hitsugaya couldn't stifle the gasp that broke from his parted lips as he met that rolling, silver stare, still shadowed beneath half closed lashes.

"I'm not the only one who has a tendency to underestimate people," Ichigo murmured, responding to the warning laced within the play.

His reiatsu slid from its tight coil and Hitsugaya's responded instinctively, though there was no real threat. Clothes fluttered against tense muscle as their power rolled together, whispering unspoken promises and ever darkening memories.

From the depths of the molten silver, Hitsugaya caught a hint of something darker, foreign yet familiar all at the same time. He forced himself to look deeper, and there, lingering in the chaos he found it, the face of their salvation and their greatest fear. He jerked back but Ichigo followed, pressing him into the tile with the weight of his body. Ichigo's free hand slid tingling up his arm, tracing the faint scars that still lingered there.

"Are you afraid, Little Dragon?" Ichigo whispered warm against his skin, the silver giving way to liquid gold and black.

"No," Hitsugaya breathed, hand trembling faintly against Ichigo's chest, pushing without any real force.

His lips parted on a gasp as fingers tightened against his scalp, tilting his head sideways to expose his pale throat.

"You should be," an eerie hybrid voice murmured darkly, teeth flashing wickedly as his head dipped out of sight.

Hitsugaya pulled away sharply, pressing deeper into the tile, though a shuddering little noise rose unbidden to his lips. Before either could respond, before they could even draw breath, an arm snaked between them and Ichigo was gone, hauled back against Urahara in a blur. The former captain pivoted, arching gracefully through the air, slamming Ichigo into the roof as his weight settled atop him. Breathless they stared at each other, uneasy grey-green to simmering gold.

"Relax, Kisuke," Ichigo breathed, leaning in to brush the tips of their noses together. "We're just fucking around."

He blinked, and between one second and the next his eyes faded back to a rich chocolate, though the chiseled edge never left his features. He let his body relax against the one holding him in place, his arms dropping to his sides in a show of mock surrender. Urahara's heart was pounding, reverberating through both their bodies, physical proof of the spike of adrenaline that had passed through him the moment before.

He pulled away, sitting up to straddle Ichigo. His gaze traveled over his face, lingering briefly on his eyes, before shifting to Hitsugaya who was nearly emotionless, save for the pale cast of his skin.

"That was certainly an interesting show," the blond quipped lightly, the tone a heavy contrast to his searching look.

"I owe you an apology for my presumptuousness." Hitsugaya managed a near casual tone, shaking out of his trance under the continued scrutiny of the former captain.

"Excuse me?" Urahara looked genuinely lost, as occurrence that few had ever witnessed.

"It seems that you were correct about certain unexpected charms." His face had lost its ashen hue, a faint dusting of color staining his cheekbones. "I honestly never would have believed it."

"It is quite the phenomenon," Urahara muttered, his gaze turning introspective as he eyed the captain with added interest.

Ichigo folded his arms under his head, a slow, wicked smile blooming as he studied Hitsugaya.

"I told you I could take your ass anytime," his voice rolled liquid smooth, amused and cocky.

"I wouldn't go without a fight," Hitsugaya held out, resettling some of his earlier composure.

Ichigo chuckled. "You're pretty fucked up, Toushirou. You should drop the stick up your ass attitude more often."

Hitsugaya snorted at the suggestion and returned to his earlier contemplation of the scenery, though not before Ichigo caught the faint curve of his lips. The younger man chuckled again, slipping his arms free so he could curl his fingers around the hips still hovering over his own.

"I didn't mean to scare you, Kisuke," he said softly, staring up into the familiar, pale gaze.

Urahara leaned forward, planting his elbows on either side of Ichigo's head, his hair drifting loose around his face. Ichigo craned his neck, arching up to catch him mid breath in a stolen kiss. Urahara's tongue darted out, swiping across his lips as he pressed him back against the tile. Ichigo's mouth opened, inviting and hot, and he moaned faintly as he stared across the distance between. Urahara withdrew, sucking his lower lip for a second longer before releasing him, his breath caressing the tingling skin.

"You don't scare me, Ichigo." He kissed him again, twisting his arm around to thread fingers into thoroughly disheveled hair. "Some of the things you do worry me, and sometimes I wonder if you think things through, but you don't scare me."

Something in Ichigo's eyes softened, the lifting of an unnamed darkness, and the shadow of a tired smile traced over his lips. He shifted against the tile, and Urahara rolled away to let him move. Ichigo stood, dusting himself off slowly. It was all too much sometimes and well meant reassurances could only take him so far.

He was saved from further introspection by a crashing somewhere beneath their feet. Apparently life in the rest of the world was not progressing as smoothly as it might in their absence. Urahara sighed and started to rise but Ichigo waved him off.

"I got it," he muttered, taking a step forward.

"Kurosaki," Hitsugaya called softly and the younger man stilled, glancing back at them from the edge of the roof.

The silence stretched as they studied each other, looking for the answers that nobody had. There was a sad sort of contemplation in the young captain's gaze, and beneath it Ichigo could see a weary resolve starting to stir.

"Ichigo." His voice was quieter still, echoing with the past and seeking a truth he was afraid to find. "What will you do if they come for you?"

Urahara tensed slightly, his agitation slipping free to whisper across their skin.

Ichigo's eyes never left Hitsugaya as he considered the words, realizing that, for the first time in days, his anger didn't leap at the thought. It was the fear that had haunted their waking thoughts, lurking at the edge of every deliberately carefree moment, but hearing it now, without the sugarcoated concern, seemed to strip it of its teeth. The tension fell from Ichigo's shoulders, as a familiar, cool weight settled in his chest. The curve of his lips was like a razors edge as he met Hitsugaya's searching gaze.

"I'll burn them all," he said quietly, without fear or uncertainty, and then he turned, disappearing over the side of the roof.

Urahara let out a tired sigh and turned toward the young captain, who was studying his hands as through lost in thought.

"It's disconcerting," Hitsugaya said finally, his thumb tracing over his wrist as though the tingle of Ichigo's power still lingered. "I haven't seen that look since the war."

"This is all walking a fine and dangerous line." Urahara shook his head, frowning into the distance.

"Do you have much contact with _him_?" Hitsugaya asked as he rose, glancing at the spot where Ichigo had last stood.

"Occasionally," Urahara said quietly, dragging himself to his feet. "They came to an understanding long ago."

"Is he losing control of him?" Hitsugaya's eyes were like walls of glass when he finally turned to the former captain.

"No," Urahara stared down at him, his own gaze giving nothing away, "It would be far less dangerous if that were the case."

Hitsugaya had no reply as he walked to the edge of the roof and dropped to the waiting ground. Urahara followed more slowly, contemplating the past, the future, and everything between.

Inside, Ichigo seemed to have quelled the rebellion and was moderating a rather passionate discussion between Jinta and Karin. There was a slight difference of opinion between the two over who would prevail in an out and out fight. In the corner, Ururu was helping Tessai collect the wayward pieces of a table lamp, the apparent victim of their prior method of _discussion_.

"My my, what seems to be the problem?" Urahara drawled smoothly, wrapping an arm around Ichigo and examining the two over his shoulder.

"They're insane," Ichigo summarized, leaning back against him.

"_He_ said that he could protect Yuzu better than I could because he's a _guy._" Karin rolled her eyes in disgust, lowering her voice to a furious whisper, "which is bullshit because I saved his ass the other day and he knows it!"

"They surprised me," Jinta defended, flushing faintly.

"That's the fucking point, dipshit," Karin rounded on him. "Who the hell schedules an attack?"

Urahara hummed as though this were a fair point, looking back to Jinta for the rebuttal.

"Yeah, well I saved your ass before, too, so don't think I owe you," he huffed weekly.

"You're so full of shit." Karin scowled at him, taking a step forward.

"You two stop that." Yuzu appeared in the doorway, clad in a ridiculous apron and brandishing a wooden spoon. "Karin, you shouldn't say things like that, its naughty, and Jinta, you shouldn't say mean things about girls, it's rude."

She planted her hands on her hips and stared at them both until they dropped their eyes. Satisfied that her maternal duty was fulfilled she broke into a grin, waving to Hitsugaya who was leaning against the wall just inside the door. She pivoted on a bounce and disappeared back into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder that dinner would be in half an hour.

"Well that seems to have resolved itself nicely." Urahara nuzzled the side of the younger man's neck before releasing him. "It's almost like a real family."

"Yeah, if a 13 year old girl is the responsible adult here," Ichigo muttered, though he cracked a slight smile.

Karin had joined Hitsugaya against the wall and was speaking to him in low tones. Ichigo frowned, the memory of sexual awareness in those brilliant, green eyes all too recent in his mind. Karin was railing about something, and Ichigo growled as he saw the young captain roll his eyes, touching her lips softly with the pads of two fingers to forestall the next onslaught. He could see the soft flush rising on her cheeks and he started toward them before Urahara caught him around the waist, pulling him deeper into the room.

"You and your father are remarkably similar in some instances," he mused, brushing his lips over Ichigo's forehead. "What do you really think is going to happen in a room full of people?"

The subject of this observation just snorted but managed to pry his eyes away from the pair. He hooked an arm around the blond's neck and pulled him closer, kissing him lazily and with a lingering slowness.

"Do you mind?" Jinta cut in, smirking up at them from where he'd sprawled on the floor. "You're throwing off my pre-food meditation."

Ichigo pulled back, studying the older man from an inch away. "She _did_ say we have half an hour," he murmured softly, nipping at his chin. "And you owe me a reiatsu lesson."

"I do," Urahara agreed, "but _you_ aren't quiet, and there are quite a few ears present."

"Is that a challenge?" Some of the controlled fire was still lingering in his eyes, shining though the weariness like shimmering coals.

"Possibly," Urahara smirked, looking to forestall the lurking fears.

"Ichi-nii," Yuzu called from the other room, momentarily hampering their plans, "can you bring me the big plate I saw in there?"

"Sure, Yuzu," Ichigo called back, leaning in to trace Urahara's ear with his tongue. "You stay here," he whispered.

The blond chuckled, leaning against the wall in a show of obedience. Ichigo slipped away, casting about briefly before spotting the requested item gracing a table in the corner of the room. He scooped it up, wiping away a spot of dust with his shirt as he crossed the floor.

He was stepping through the doorway, following the sweet tune Yuzu was humming, when the first tickle at his senses gave him pause. He turned, catching the ripple of awareness as it passed through the room. Urahara pushed off the wall, his eyes sharp and across the room Karin and Hitsugaya fell silent. There was a reiatsu approaching fast, masked but leaking as though under enormous strain. Agitation. Rage. Fear. It was recognizable, easily identifiable, and Ichigo saw Hitsugaya's expression close down.

There was a crash and Ichigo spun, reiatsu flaring in defense as the door flew open. Matsumoto gripped the frame as she sagged, smearing a streak of blood across the pristine white wall. Hitsugaya started forward but she snapped back up, her eyes darting around the room to lock on Ichigo.

"You have run," she gasped, blood welling between the fingers clutching her side. "They're coming. They've mobilized 5 divisions and they're attacking anyone who gets in the way."

The plate slipped from Ichigo's fingers but he didn't even notice when it shattered against the floor, pelting him with glittering shards. Something twisted inside him, sharp with pain and betrayal, flaring bright. He wanted to be angry, wanted to feel that sense of outrage burning through his veins but there was only an icy numbness and a vast, inexplicable loneliness.

* * *

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**A/N:** Yeah, that's right, I'm _still_ not dead! Shocker, I know! I've sworn up and down that I'm going to finish this story, and I mean it. Really. As in I already have the next two chapters pretty much complete. Thanks again to Shizuka, my amazing beta, without whom I would be far less coherent.

Okay, on to story notes. As I've stated before, this story is no longer entirely canon. I'm calling it 'divergent' at this point, because it was still plausible until somewhere near the end of the last arc. This used to really bother me, to the point where I was having trouble writing it, but I've decided that I don't care. I know where I'm going with this, and I figure the people who are still reading this are probably willing to go along for the ride.

I also know that it was mean to leave things like I did in this chapter, but as I've said, I already have more written. Hopefully I will have the next chapter up very shortly. Real shortly, this time…not like the last time.

Anyway, if you like the chapter I'd love to hear from you. Hell, I'd like to hear from you even if you don't (so long as it's constructive), because I'm always looking to improve. The key here is: I appreciate your feedback. Now off with you…I'll be seeing you soon!

ps. I'm also pimping my newest story 'The Truth of Shadows', and not just because I'm shameless. It was inspired by the fact that I could never get Ichigo and Ukitake out of my head from writing Shades. Please note, it does not take place in the same universe...its just inspired by the thought.


	10. Maelstrom

**Chapter 10 – Maelstrom**

For one horrible moment no one breathed, the shock paralyzing their world as her words rang in their ears. Matsumoto choked, swaying in place, her legs giving out as the last of her strength failed her. Hitsugaya shot forward but Ichigo was faster, catching her against him and sinking slowly to the ground. A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth, rolling dark over sickly pale skin. She coughed painfully, the blood coming faster. Shaky fingers rose to brush over Ichigo's cheek, smearing her life's essence warm across his flesh.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, lips and teeth stained with gore. "There was nothing I could do."

People were moving fast around the room and Ichigo dimly registered Hitsugaya dropping to his knees beside him, but he couldn't look away. He could never look away when they apologized like that, even though he wanted to. He hated it. He pressed his hand to her cooling fingers, still resting against his cheek, trying to comfort her the only way he could. Tears were rolling down her face, mixing with the blood and she choked again, a deep, gurgling sound.

"They locked down our division before they made the announcement." She was struggling hard on every word, but he'd learned long ago just to let them speak. "Ikkaku took the 11th against them to buy me some time; they're fighting in the streets. Gods…they're dying in the streets so that I could get away."

A sob racked her frame, the blood-soaked tears spreading through her hair, trickling down to pool on the floor. Tessai's hands were pressed into her side but she never even looked at him.

"Yumi was with me, but there were just so many. He stayed to hold them back…there was so much blood. He screamed at me to run and…gods, I left him there…I left him there to die…" Her hand pressed trembling to her lips, her eyes squeezing shut against the final glimpse of her bloodstained husband. "Gods, love, I'm so sorry…gods, please…_please_..."

Her eyes fluttered shut; her head lolling back as she finally succumbed to the darkness, slipping into unconsciousness. Ichigo stared down at her, the rage and pain a muted, dull swirl in the back of his numb mind. Hands slid onto his shoulders and he turned to find Urahara crouched behind him, looking grave.

"We have to go," he murmured softly, glancing down at Matsumoto. "They'll be here in minutes."

Ichigo nodded without argument, laying her gently against the floor. He'd been here far too many times, and every time it cut him deeper. He dug into his pocket, sliding the green pill between his lips as Hitsugaya did the same beside him. Kon gasped, taking a step back as his eyes tore around the room. His head snapped toward Ichigo, fists clenching at his sides.

"They're coming?"

Ichigo just nodded, feeling impossibly old.

"How long?" He demanded, eyes hardening fast.

"Minutes," Ichigo said softly, and Kon pivoted to sprint down the hall.

Ichigo's eyes fell on Karin, slouched dazedly against the wall, Yuzu's limp body clutched tight to her chest. He wondered distantly if she'd knocked her out herself, and felt grateful that someone had the presence of mind to do so. She looked scared and furious, her eyes burning dark, and he wished desperately for the words to make it all okay, but there were none. There was nothing to make this better. Kon reappeared at her side, tossing a long bag at her feet and crouching to lace a pair of heavy boots.

"I'm going with you," she said quietly, her voice oddly calm in the chaos of the room.

"No," Ichigo bit out, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You stay with Kon no matter what happens."

"Ichi-nii—" She began but he cut her off.

"Please, Karin." His brows drew painfully as he watched the tears swim in her eyes. Less than a day and he'd already failed to protect her. "Please promise me."

She shook her head miserably as her breath hitched in her throat, but he knew she would comply; he could see it breaking in her pain-filled eyes. Jinta knelt in front of her, murmuring something too soft to hear, slipping one of Yuzu's limp arms around his shoulders.

"Tessai, I'm leaving the children to you." Urahara's voice was hard, and the larger man nodded in solemn understanding. "Do whatever it takes to keep them safe."

"Can I move her?" Hitsugaya cut in, pressing his fingers to Matsumoto's pulse.

"There's no other option," Tessai sighed, moving to relieve Jinta of his burden. "You have to be careful, though, she's very unstable."

"They'll be after her, too." Hitsugaya's eyes found Urahara. "We'll only slow you down if you have to look out for us. I'll take her another way."

The former captain nodded, tossing him a dark cloak he'd retrieved as some point. "Wrap her in that, it'll mask her reiatsu."

"Thank you," Hitsugaya whispered, a thousand scattered dreams fading in his eyes.

There was nothing more to do, and no time left for miracles.

"We'll draw them," Urahara said softly, one hand settling back onto Ichigo's shoulder. "Get as far away as you can. We'll meet up when it's safe."

Ichigo gave them all one final look, lingering on Karin for a bittersweet eternity, and then he turned, using shunpo to carry him from their world, Urahara following one step behind. The buildings flew by in a hazy mosaic, wind tearing at his clothes as they pressed their reiatsu outward. All around they could feel the Shinigami, too many to count, coming from all directions. He felt them shift, catching the trail, moving to follow their obvious retreat. Ichigo poured on the speed, relief flooding through him as he led them away from the others. They were all that mattered. They had to be safe.

"You don't have to do this," he shouted wearily, shunpo synced perfectly with the man moving beside him.

"I know," Urahara replied, never breaking stride, "but someone has to keep an eye on you, and I happened to be free."

A sad smile rose to Ichigo's lips as his chest squeezed painfully. "I didn't want it to be like this."

"I know," Urahara said quietly, voice nearly lost on the wind.

Ichigo turned, angling away from town, heading toward the nearest open area he could remember. The less people around the better; he needed to focus on the task at hand.

"We need to do this with as little bloodshed as possible," Urahara said, his foot brushing across grass as they cleared a park. "We need to focus on escaping and regrouping. There's no turning back if the killing starts."

"There's no turning back anyway." Ichigo's voice was tired, the shadows playing on his face as they slipped through the trees. "They'll never let me go."

"We can still find a way." The words were a beautiful lie on Urahara's tongue.

Ichigo's eyes were a turbulent swirl, but he nodded once in silent promise. He would do what he could, for whatever it was worth, but if it came down to the end he would not go quietly.

The light from the low hanging sun stirred through knee-high grass as they broke into a clearing, Ichigo drawing up short at a sharp word from Urahara. In the midst of the space, surrounded by the roll of breeze stirred life, stood Byakuya, Senbonzakura unsheathed and resting at his side.

"Byakuya," Ichigo's eyes swept fast through the area, searching for a sign of impending threat. "How'd you get out? Did you hear about this bullshit the Shinigami are pulling?"

He started to move forward but fell back as Senbonzakura twitched in the air.

"I can't let you pass," Byakuya said quietly, the calm sounding forced in his almost stoic tone.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ichigo shouted, confusion warring with anger in the sharp lines of his face. "We don't have time for this shit."

"I'm sorry, Kurosaki," he murmured, the cool mask slipping as his brows drew together.

Ichigo felt something inside him twist as he took a step forward, Zangetsu dipping an inch lower. "Byakuya?"

Urahara caught his shoulder as he moved again, pulling him back with a shake of his head.

"He's with them, Ichigo," he said softly, raising Benihime between them to cover the other man.

"Why?" Ichigo breathed, sounding more lost than he had in years. "You _know_ I'm not losing control. What are you doing?"

Zangetsu came back up, but Urahara could feel the bitter hurt rolling through the younger man. Of all the Shinigami captains, Ichigo had been closest to Kuchiki Byakuya, having long since overcome their initial differences. They had worked closely together in the height of the war, running a series of missions during the worst of the fighting. They had ultimately succeeded, but at a terrible cost, barely returning alive when all was said and done. The brutal ordeal had forged a bond between them, an unspoken thing born of horrors and resolve. For him to stand here now was an ultimate betrayal, and Urahara felt his own rage starting to simmer beneath his skin.

"We cannot go to war for this." Byakuya's tone was pained. "There is fighting in the streets of Seireitei. It will tear our world apart."

"Some things are still worth fighting for." Urahara's voice was hard. "And I won't see him sacrificed for your mockery of peace."

"It won't be like that," Byakuya said sharply. "We can find another way, but you have to come with me before it's too late."

"There is nothing there but death, and we both know it," Urahara growled, his reiatsu coiling tight as his anger rose. "I won't allow it."

A flash of red and white forestalled any further argument; Renji appearing next to Byakuya as his captains' robes settled around him. He turned slowly, eyes darting between the three, torn indecision skating across his features. He was never the same after Rukia's death, his heart closing off as he drew back from the world. When he'd been offered a position as captain of the 5th, he'd accepted it willingly, burying himself in the title and his own self-blame. He had failed to protect the woman he loved, and he could never fully forgive himself for his perceived shortcomings. Ichigo had failed, too, in Renji's backward, tattered world, and the bitterness of it had torn a rift between them.

"What are we gonna do?" He muttered to Byakuya, tattooed brows pulling together in a frown.

"What we must," Byakuya replied, and Renji's frown deepened.

The others were starting to fall into place, closing in fast now that their prey was still. Soifon landed silently, flanking Byakuya, catching Urahara's gaze with a look of cold triumph. She had always hated him, always longed for him to fall, and as his bond with Ichigo strengthened her hatred had evolved to encompass them both. Kira and Hisagi slid in behind her, looking far less pleased with the whole situation. They'd sworn to do their duty when they'd taken the role of captain, but they'd never held ill feelings toward either of the men. Every seated officer seemed to be moving in to flank them, as well as the bulk of most of the squads. The clearing was fast becoming crowded, dotted throughout with rolling, trembling reiatsu.

"Nowhere to run," Soifon sneered, her smile cutting sharp with ugly satisfaction.

"Fuck off, you bitch," Ichigo snarled, knuckles going white against Zangetsu's hilt. "This is all your fault."

She started to lunge forward but Byakuya cut her off, giving her a hard look before turning to Ichigo.

"We don't want a fight," he tried again, the twitch in his jaw belying the calm in his tone. "Come with us now, and I'll speak on your behalf."

"It's not going to happen," Urahara said quietly, stepping between Ichigo and the army against them.

"It doesn't have to be this way." Byakuya's brows pulled softly.

"It does as long as you're on the wrong side," Urahara assured him, a sad smile lingering on his tired lips.

A dull boom rolled through the distance, snapping their attention to a rising column of smoke.

"Looks like we found your friends," Soifon said darkly, catching the horror whispering through Ichigo's eyes. "Did you think I'd just let them go?"

Ichigo felt a weight slam into his chest, crushing the air from his lungs. His sisters, the kids, he'd left them alone. They were alone with the Shinigami and no one to protect them.

"No," he whispered raggedly his reiatsu leaking through the air. "Leave them alone."

Soifon barked a sharp, hard laugh and Renji turned on her.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He hissed. "They're just kids."

"Dangerous kids," she spat, sparing him a disgusted look before turning on Ichigo with a nasty sneer. "Surrender and I _might_ let them live."

"This isn't what we talked about," Renji snarled, but it was already too late.

Ichigo's reiatsu slammed into the clearing, sending the lesser forces sprawling to the ground. He raised Zangetsu slowly, his power shimmering in the air, leveling the sneering captain with a cold, expressionless stare.

"I'm going to kill you," he said softly—too softly—and even Urahara felt a chill roll up his spine.

Zangetsu slid up and Soifon crouched low, growling in anticipation of the attack that never came.

"My gods," Kira breathed, still staring into the distance, eyes going wide with awed disbelief.

A blue sun was rising from behind the trees, blinding and brilliant against the backdrop of the city. It hovered for an instant, a beautiful, glowing eternity and then it pulsed, shattering, racing toward the earth in a thousand shards of light.

"You won't catch Tessai twice, Soifon," Urahara's voice was like ice on glass. "He'll burn your men to the ground."

Her eyes flared wide, lips pulling back in a snarl of screaming rage. Ichigo stepped forward, thrumming with indecision and Urahara caught him, his lips brushing the back of his neck as he spoke.

"Stay with me, Ichigo." His voice was thick with tension. "You have to leave them to Tessai. There's no more time."

Ichigo's eyes snapped sharp as Soifon lunged, roaring her hatred, flying at them fast. The lips pressed briefly, one last fleeting kiss, and then the warmth vanished from his back, leaving Ichigo strangely empty. The hint of a breeze stirred through his hair and Soifon fell away, clutching a gash scored deep into her arm. Urahara landed between them, eyes glowing red under the crush of his reiatsu, Benihime singing for blood in his hand.

"I told you that's not going to happen." His voice dipped low, the power coiling around him and spreading through the air. "You can't have him."

Two heartbeats were all they had between the world they had known and the one that lay before them. Urahara caught Ichigo's gaze with burning, crimson eyes, a final, wistful smile pulling soft over his lips. Ichigo reached out but he was already gone and everything he knew exploded into chaos.

Urahara's first blast caught Soifon in the chest, sending her crashing into a group of officers. He didn't stop to watch, turning on Kira and Hisagi, praying that Renji and Byakuya would mean the least harm.

"Go," he shouted back, and then he was on them, dancing through the air with deadly grace. "Don't fight, just run."

Ichigo hesitated for the barest of instants before tearing across the clearing, trusting the captains to follow. He had no intention of running away, but he needed to put some space between himself and the other man. Behind him he felt the grating tear of Urahara's bankai sing to life, rubbing over his nerves like shards of broken glass. He'd never liked the feeling, and though he respected its power, he'd always secretly agreed when Shiro called it _Demon_.

All around him reiatsu was surging, rolling thick through the air like a smothering cloud. There were flashes of kidou, too many to count, spells raining down like a glittering storm. Ichigo slid though the chaos, dodging the worst of the barrage, deflecting the weaker spells with the pulse of his darker power. The lesser forces were maintaining their distance, staying out of range to act as support. A smart move, and a necessary one; they would have succumbed to the crush of his reiatsu alone, once the full weight of his power started to manifest. A cold shell settled over him as he released his bankai. They had planned this to the letter, knowing intimately how he fought, using all they'd learned as allies while he'd struggled to save their lives.

Byakuya was swinging left, trying to cut him off, and Renji was moving to flank, herding him toward the attack. Practiced execution—cold and controlled—way more familiar than it ever should have been. Ichigo stepped into shunpo, slipping through the tightening noose, turning on a group of officers who were trying to close off his retreat. He slammed into the forces as the captains flew in fast, scattering their ranks with more finesse than he owed the fight. He recognized these men, knew their faces, knew their lives. It felt wrong to cut them down and that mercy dulled his blade.

Ichigo spun as Byakuya fell on him, pushing him back and pivoting to catch Renji. They were bringing the fight close, much closer than their range required, and Ichigo frowned as he tried to find the logic. He lashed out fast, forcing Renji into shikai, Zabimaru whipping between them as the other man retreated. Byakuya shouted something and he turned to face the kidou, dragging his mask into place and catching the spell on the edge of his power. Byakuya was trying to bind him but it wouldn't be that easy, the spells had trouble sticking to his coiling, hybrid reiatsu. They'd learned that together when they'd fought side by side, and golden eyes burned deep with the bitterness of that memory.

The support kidou thinned as he clashed with the men, the forces wary of striking their captains. Ichigo used the reprieve as an opening, slipping beneath Zabimaru's arch, dancing away from Byakuya who had pressed in once again. He was up to something to be bringing the fight so close, but Ichigo couldn't find the reason for the unfamiliar tactic. He fired a cero at the dark-haired man, forcing him to release his zanpakutou to scatter the attack.

"Stop fighting, Ichigo," Renji shouted over the distance, his reiatsu flaring wildly as he released his massive bankai.

Ichigo didn't reply, because it wasn't worth the breath and no matter what he said it could never change their fate. Behind him, he felt Byakuya's second release, rolling away on instinct to avoid the influx of blades. He was on his feet in seconds, slipping through the arching swirls of metal, firing a cero at Zabimaru as the skeletal jaws struck down.

Across the clearing Urahara was moving, playing strike-and-retreat to avoid getting trapped. He'd lost his coat, his blade flashing bright, blood painting the air as he caught Kira off step. He was amazingly good, and his tactics were flawless, but he was fighting against odds that were taxing at best. Ichigo lunged forward, slicing through Byakuya's sleeve, missing his mark as the man leapt out of range. He pivoted sharply, spotting a kidou unit halfway across the clearing.

"Getsuga Tenshou," he growled, hurtling the blast across the distance. It slammed into the pack, their screams twisting in the air, opening Urahara's flank as the Shinigami scattered.

Zabimaru missed him by inches as Ichigo launched himself skyward, the impact shrouding his ascent in a plume of dirt and debris. He twisted in midair, landing briefly on the writhing coils, firing a blast into the heart of the beast before flinging himself to the side. He hit the ground running with Byakuya closing in fast, but a wave of crimson cut low between them as Urahara played his hand.

Ichigo darted away, skirting fast along the tree line, forcing the support troops to scatter. Across the way Urahara was doing the same, moving the battle to keep the enemy on guard. Fight for a few minutes, then a twenty degree shift, force your opponents off-balance while you pick off the flanks. It was an old school tactic, but effective all the same, and they'd danced these steps together more times than they could count.

Ichigo's world narrowed to a blur of clockwork ticks. Steel striking steel. Dance beneath the fire. Rinse and repeat the horrible cycle under the light of the nearly-gone sun. A blast of Kidou skimmed past his shoulder as he fired a cero into Senbonzakura's flow. The blades flew wild, messy in the air, biting into his skin as he darted through the hole. Blood rolled down his arm as he launched himself sideways, sending a group of officers flying with ease. A textbook execution down to the letter; a perfect diversion to cover their retreating friends.

"I came to help you," Byakuya shouted, matching his pace as he tore through the field. "We can still make this work, but you have to stop fighting."

"Don't lie to me," Ichigo snarled, lashing out sharply as he got too close. He caught Byakuya's cheek with the tip of his blade, crimson flowing vivid over porcelain skin. "If you really wanted to help me you'd be killing Soifon."

It had been awhile since he'd heard anything from the distance, and he could only pray that Tessai had broken the ranks. A little more time and he could shift his focus elsewhere; begin the process of escaping the fray. Retreat and regroup, that was the game, get them all to safety so they could formulate a plan.

He could feel Urahara wearing, the constant influx of damage starting to chip at his reserves. He was splashed in blood, but whose it was hard to tell, swiping sweat out of his eyes as he parried Hisagi. Ichigo dodged an attack from Renji and came face-to-face with Byakuya, the man lunging forward as through trying to grab him. He raised Zangetsu fast, driving him away, falling back a step as Senbonzakura came from the side. They were becoming more aggressive and Ichigo's fatigue was building, taxed by their push and his desire not to hurt them. He jumped back again, landing near a hill at the edge of the trees, spotting Soifon as she swung toward Urahara.

"Getsuga Tenshou," he hissed, flinging a wave of energy toward her, hoping to draw her attention from the overtaxed blond.

It was time to move this along before fatigue brought clumsy mistakes, while he still possessed the focus to create the necessary chaos. They would need a healthy diversion if they wanted a clean escape and his hold on his emotions was already starting to slip. He fired a series of ceros into several of the surrounding units, the explosions muffling their screams and bathing them in debris. Their ranks were breaking, the Shinigami running for cover, dragging their wounded brethren limp across the ground.

Ichigo spun on the balls of his feet, blasting off another Getsuga at the approaching captains. It clipped Byakuya in the shoulder, burning away his sleeve, and forced Renji off course in a stroke that was more luck than skill. He started to follow, but there was a surge of reiatsu behind him, some low level officer with something to prove. The enemy zanpakutou was already raised and slashing down before Ichigo could even turn. Clumsy fucking mistake. Ichigo growled at himself for the slip, hardening his reiatsu to fend off the blow.

"Blue Fire Crash Down!"

The force of the blast took the Shinigami off his feet, slamming him into the earth with a bone jarring finality. Ichigo's head snapped around and for a moment he was 15, staring up at Rukia as she rushed to his aid. His heart twisted cold, screaming that it was wrong. Rukia was dead. She couldn't save him now, he'd felt her life fading as her fingers slid from his. He shook his head and the ghosts fell away, a sick horror dawning as he met Karin's terrified gaze.

She was standing on the hill to the right of him, frozen in that moment of terrible awareness, palms still facing outward. The Shinigami was dead and she had killed him, her first life taken in the defense of another. It was done—in sickening clarity—the last piece of innocence stripped brutally away. And just like that her eyes snapped sharp, returning his stare as her resolve clamped down. She turned away, hair caught in the tempest of her rising reiatsu, lips already forming on their next incantation.

The Shinigami were adjusting, shearing off to intercept her, rushing toward the hill as she let loose a wave of fire. Ichigo felt a scream tear from his throat as he launched himself forward, catching the first officer with the edge of his blade. He leapt toward the second but the others slid past, one raising a zanpakutou that never came down.

Blood splattered wet across the ground as the Shinigami fell, final surprise fading from dying eyes. Kon slid forward, stepping over the body, not even looking as he crouched in front of Karin. He was wielding twin kodachi, already dark with blood, lips pulled back over a vicious, merciless snarl. Built for battle, steeped in war, easy smile washed from flint hard eyes. The final two Shinigami cried out their charge, but they never stood a chance. Kon had taken up the blades during the height of the war and had refined them to an art form, and extension of his being. He danced with them like wind over water; effortless, beautiful, and so very, very deadly.

"No," Ichigo shouted, watching Karin's reiatsu coil, lips tracing soundlessly as Kon cut down his target. "Get out of here!"

He lunged forward blindly, the battle falling away, his need to reach his sister the only focus in his world. Senbonzakura cut low and he batted it aside, blood flecking the air as his reiatsu started to soften. Zabimaru was diving in as he swung past Renji, missing him by inches through luck alone. He made it two steps before something caught him in the chest, taking him off his feet and sending pain searing through him. He landed rough, but rolled up fast, managing to avoid the bulk of Soifon's next blast. She flew at him hard, forcing him back into the fight.

"Kisuke," Ichigo shouted over the ringing of steel, trying to find the blond in the sea of Shinigami. "You have to get to Karin!"

He felt Urahara shift, trying to angle toward his battle, but an explosion rocked the air and the blond's reiatsu shuddered. Their enemy was everywhere; a violent, shrieking mass trying to tear them to pieces. He couldn't break free, cutting them down as they poured in endlessly. A Shinigami screamed and Ichigo kicked him away, the sound grating on his nerves and stirring his anger.

"Open the right, if you can." Urahara's shout was muted, thick with strain and the rough edge of power.

"Fuck," Ichigo snarled, blade sparking bright over Soifon's gauntlet, tripping back a step as Senbonzakura struck.

Another group of Shinigami were pushing toward Karin, recognizing her threat and her lesser degree of protection. Kon surged up, catching the first one unprepared, blades finding the second before the first could even scream. Karin's eyes closed as blood splashed her pale skin, raising shaking hands to face the coming tide.

"Twin Lotus Blue Fire, Crash Down!"

She staggered as the dual blasts released, slamming into the Shinigami and tearing them from the hillside. There was something unstable in bite of her reiatsu, a shiver in the kidou that twisted through the air. She was casting beyond her skill, burning through her power, commanding the spells to manifest through force of will alone. Wartime tactics, desperate, last-ditch measures. Ichigo would kill Tessai for teaching her such things.

"Get her out of here, Kon," Ichigo screamed through the battle, holding back Soifon through instinct alone.

In a detached sort of way he could see what Tessai meant, about the parallels between them in inherent, natural talent. He could feel her raw power, screaming to be free, crushing the air around her with rough, merciless ferocity. It reminded him of himself, all those years ago, when he still believed he was immortal and that nothing could stand in his way. He'd learned his lessons the hard way, that resolve wasn't always enough; not for him in untrained glory, or for his sister's screaming rage. She would fall, just as he had, except no one would be there to catch her. He had to be there. He'd promised he would be there.

The mod soul's eyes flicked up, but only for an instant, his focus darting back to the next victim of his blade. It was already too late, they'd drawn too much attention, they were being pressed too hard to find an opening for retreat.

Soifon lunged low, scoring a gash along Ichigo's side, painting a tattoo against his flesh and angling for another. He kicked out hard, catching her in the chest, sending her flying into a squad of approaching men. Zabimaru lunged in fast, pressing Ichigo deeper into the fray, forcing him to use his bankai speed to dance through Senbonzakura.

He was swarmed for a moment as Soifon's officers pressed in, zanpakutous glancing uselessly off his barely holding reiatsu. They were trying to overwhelm him with numbers and speed; a pathetic reflection of their captain's wanton arrogance. He hated them all; every sorry waste of breath. He caught some unknown blade against the palm of his hand, tearing it away and flinging it into the crowd. Another lunged forward and Ichigo lashed out with his fist, the wet crunch of bone drowned out by the cacophony of battle. Fresh blood panted his mask, blending with the markings like an evolving work or art. It felt familiar, like a mockery of home. He flexed his reiatsu, knocking them away, spinning to face Senbonzakura as Byakuya attacked from behind.

"Byakuya," he snarled, backhanding a charging officer. "You have to get her out of here. She hasn't done anything."

The captain's eyes flickered, torn with regrets, and he fell back a step, signaling to his men. Ichigo thought for a moment that he was going to comply, but he returned to the battle, flying at the younger man. Ichigo growled his rage, firing a Getsuga in his direction, turning on Soifon to release another. The reiatsu burned raw over his aching nerves, the first vestiges of strain at the worst possible time. He was over-taxing his power but there was no help for it now.

Renji pressed forward while the others fell back, and Ichigo leapt to the side, trying to skirt around his attack. The Shinigami were coming fast, a tide of faceless rage, pouring up the hill in pursuit of their target. A wave of crimson light slammed into the front of the charge, cutting them down with brutal precision. Urahara was covering the best he could, but he was still furiously engaged. He swung wide, Hisagi and Kira fast on his heels, looking for an angle that wouldn't cost him the fight.

Ichigo ducked left as the air stirred behind him, using shunpo to step again as Byakuya followed. There was something flickering in his hand and it didn't make sense, because Senbonzakura was released and he didn't need another weapon. He tried to get a better look but the captain slipped away, lost on the roll of battle swirling around them. Ichigo turned to tear into Renji.

Soifon had paused in her charge, shouting an order to some of her men, attention shifting to Urahara as she saw him leave an opening. Ichigo fired a cero, not even taking the time to aim, trying to pull her focus as he continued to clash with the others. She turned on him, teeth bared in a snarl, but had to lunge to the side to avoid a wave of kidou. She spun on her heel, zeroing in on Karin who was already beginning her next in incantation.

"No, don't!" Ichigo shouted, feeling the panic taking hold, "Karin, run!"

The enraged captain shifted, using shunpo to skip to the side, leaving Karin staring into space as she failed to track the motion. Ichigo tried to follow, but Senbonzakura tore through his leg, bringing him down to his knees as Zabimaru's jaws closed around him. He saw Soifon land as he slammed into the ground, saw the cold triumph dripping from her ugly, feral grin

She released a high level kidou; a wave of green light surging through the air. Karin turned, eyes gone wide with haunted surprise and Ichigo screamed but it was already too late. The blast rocked the earth, the tree line splintering under the onslaught of its fury, shooting a plume of debris high into the air. Ichigo stumbled to his feet, transfixed by the sight, a crack splintering his mask as his focus started to slip.

Time ticked by in agonizing heartbeats, earth raining from the sky in a slow-motion haze. It was done, his final failure, the last embers fading in his ever dying fire. And then, inexplicably, something stirred within the chaos.

A frigid blast shot from the heart of the smoke, laced with shards of glittering ice. Hitsugaya trembled as his shattering wings unfurled, fragments falling like diamonds to scatter at his feet. The haze was churning around him, caught in the swirl of his pulsing reiatsu, riding the currents of anger coursing thick in the air. In the circle of his arms, the dark-haired girl turned, wide eyes seeking Kon crouched low at their side. No time for words and Hitsugaya was gone, catching Soifon midair as she lunged to attack. Kon followed suit, bracing against a surge of Shinigami, protecting the girl standing frozen behind him.

Karin sank to her knees, meeting Ichigo's gaze from across the space between them. Her eyes were wide, vivid in a face drained fully of color, horrified and pleading. In that instant she looked all of her 13 years, lost in the tide of brutal death. Fear and agony; shock and uncertainty.

Ichigo no longer knew who he was fighting, his body moving on instinct as he struggled against the attacks. He tried to push forward, but they held him back, keeping him from reaching her and fuelling his rage. He lashed out wildly—black fire scoring the earth—burning a path screaming through the ranks. He didn't even see them as he surged desperately forward, eyes fixed solely on Karin. He felt Byakuya before he saw him, Zangetsu swinging up to catch Senbonzakura. Byakuya pressed hard, demanding his attention, blades filling the air as they clashed together.

Hitsugaya was fighting furiously against a vicious Soifon, blood flowing freely from a gash in his neck. His bankai had suffered from deflecting her blast, wings shuddering heavily as he blocked her team's kidou. He was losing ground slowly, but losing it all the same, facing down her squad and tied to his position.

Behind him Kon was tiring, drenched in foreign blood mixing sluggishly with his own. He was forced to one knee as a blade sunk into his thigh, grunting in pain as the wound tore further. He twisted free, his kodachi coming around to take off the offending arm. He struggled to his feet, falling back another step, moving to keep himself between Karin and the hoard. She still hadn't moved, slumped in the grass, head bowed over folded hands as her lips moved silently.

"On your feet, Karin," Kon shouted over his shoulder, trying to get through to her as he was forced back again. "You have to pull it together."

They weren't going to hold, their lines already breaking, and Ichigo redoubled his efforts against the bite of Byakuya's bankai. Their fury rolled together, three ticks of Ichigo's heart, before he finally found an opening and slid beneath Byakuya's defenses. Zabimaru slammed into him, punching him hard into the earth, throwing him into the path of an onslaught of kidou. He felt his mask slip further, chipping at the edges, as he cut an ugly trail through the battle ruined ground. They'd pushed him closer to Karin, but it didn't even matter because both captains were on him as soon as he regained his feet. It was going to shit and Ichigo couldn't stop it, unable to fully unleash for fear of his sister. They were going to lose if he didn't do something; they'd die in the grass like so many before them.

Karin's voice rang out, cutting across the battle, laced with regret and hardening resolve.

"I love you, Ichi-nii," she shouted her unwavering decree, and then rose to face the Shinigami who were nearly on top of her.

He screamed at her to run as he tried to push through, but Zabimaru caught him as he heard her shout again.

"Oh Orion, keeper of the keys, one who binds the hands of men -" Her voice chimed clear, echoing strangely throughout the clearing.

Ichigo slammed into the ground, firing a cero in Renji's direction, barely bringing Zangetsu up in time to block Byakuya.

"– Ten thousand fires dance in the heavens; sixteen gateways bound to the earth -" Karin's reiatsu was coiling, drawing in on itself, whipping her hair in a frenzy as her arms crossed over her chest.

Zangetsu swung wide, forcing Byakuya back, but Renji had recovered and Zabimaru joined the fray.

"-Sing your tale of ageless wandering. Cry your tears of things untold." Karin's voice was shaking, the power and fear trembling along her frame. She paused, reiatsu hitching wildly, raising her arms and eyes to the sky. "Specialist Hadou number 78: Celestial Starfall!"

The coil of her power released, rising toward the sky, and a blue sun rose brilliant over the battlefield. It shimmered, twisting in on itself, bathing the world in eerie, radiant light. The Shinigami paused transfixed for that instant and even Ichigo faltered half a step in his battle. It broke—shattering, screaming toward ground— scaring the world before her with shards of liquid fire. The Shinigami fell, screams cut brutally short, twisting in the inferno while their allies ran for cover.

Kon had leapt back as she finished the incantation, landing lightly beside her to watch the brilliant destruction. She swayed, even as the spell still rained, her reiatsu exhausted and her body not far behind. Kon caught her gently, laying her in the grass before turning once again to the scattering Shinigami. Their ranks had broken but it wouldn't be enough; he could already see them skirting the edges of the chaos.

A flash of red surged bright and Urahara was on them, blood streaking his face as he tore into the charge. He grabbed an officer by the throat, flinging him into another as a blood shield rose around him to catch the incoming kidou. He was covering their flank, trying to keep them from being overrun, but the position was far too open and Karin's fire wouldn't last forever. He pulled his reiatsu around him, sending a wave of energy outward, summoning a high level kidou without so much as a single word. He spun away from Kira but was too slow for Hisagi, blades tearing into his arm as he slid back out of range.

Ichigo dodged a blast from Zabimaru, jumping over its coil to slash at Byakuya. He saw Kon lunge forward; saw Hitsugaya go down as a green bolt slammed into his side. Zangetsu bit deep into Byakuya's arm, Ichigo's fingers sliding slick over a blood-soaked hilt as he drove the blade deeper. Byakuya pulled away and Ichigo turned on Renji, anticipating the attack that came like clockwork. They had fought together too many times in a world where things were right and loyalty still held sway.

He heard Karin scream and faltered in his movement, eyes swinging to find her without a conscious thought. Kon was tripping back, clutching a blade buried in his chest, bringing his kodachi up to tear through pliant flesh. He fell slowly, fingers loosing grip on his weapon as he went, landing in a graceless sprawl against the wreckage of the ground.

Ichigo barely avoided Renji's next attack as Karin staggered to her feet, lunging forward unsteadily to protect her fallen friend. A Shinigami officer stood over Kon's body, Zanpakuto already swinging as the girl crashed into him. Blood splattered the ground as the blade sliced through her side, dragging a different type of cry from her lips.

Ichigo's world went strangely mute, the battle around him lost to the pounding in his head. Half of his mask broke free as Renji slammed bodily into him, taking him to the ground in a tangle of limbs. The Shinigami had pulled his weapon free, painted dark with his sister's life. He was already swinging again with a blow that never fell; his sneer forever frozen as his head rolled from his shoulders. Hitsugaya crouched low over Karin's fallen form, blasting the next wave with shards of razor ice. Bloody fingers twisted in his once white coat and he reached to pull her up, shoving her behind him as he turned on Soifon.

Ichigo kicked Renji brutally away, fingers seeking Zangetsu where he'd fallen in the grass. He launched himself forward, slipping against the gore, his focus so fractured that he didn't register the click. Something cold closed around his neck, snapping into place, and his world exploded into pain. A ragged cry tore from his lips as he clawed at his throat, nails scrabbling useless against wicked, smooth metal. A suppression collar; a Shinigami prison tool, eating through his power as he struggled against it. It had been enhanced, modified for him; it had to have been to have this much effect. From somewhere in the distance he felt Urahara's reiatsu spike, raw rage boiling over as the man sensed his distress.

His bankai burned away as he fell to his knees, palms slamming deep into blood-soaked grass. Another scream tore from him, ripping through his veins and out of his stinging throat. He pulled on his hollow powers, but his control was too damaged and he couldn't find the balance to wield the dark reiatsu. The world was blurring at the edges as he turned his head, meeting Byakuya's tortured gaze towering above him. It made sense now, why he'd been trying to get so close, why he'd looked so guilty as he lied to his face. Something glittered in his hand, a spike carved deep with runes, and Ichigo felt the final betrayal settle into place.

"Soifon, NO!" Renji shouted from beside them, lunging forward suddenly to join the other fight.

Something in his tone pulled Ichigo back into focus, his head snapping up as his arms started to collapse. Soifon had released her bankai; the barrel of the weapon trained on Karin's swaying form. Everything slowed to an agonizing roll, each beat of his heart a terrible eternity as everything happened at once. Renji tore though the gore slicked grass, fingers outstretched toward the snarling captain. Hitsugaya caught Karin, turning her away, shielding her with his body as his tattered wings drew in. A crimson wave tore low across the clearing, Urahara's attack slamming into Soifon only a second too late. It was always too late. It was never enough.

Her blast split the air, rending the earth to ash as it streaked toward the ice captain with brutal precision. He wouldn't withstand it; there was no way he could, not against the full force of her bankai in his already weakened state. Ichigo felt something inside of him crack, the last remnants of his mask breaking free as the world around him ground to a halt.

He fell, landing on his shoulder, rolling onto his back to stare at Byakuya. The captain's face was turned, watching the scene unfold, lips parted and eyes widening in dawning horror. Wind-stirred hair blew across a bloodstained face, frozen in place for that eternal second. Something moved beside Ichigo and he turned his head slowly, meeting Shiro's unreadable gaze. The hollow crouched beside him, wearing his black and white face, a mirror image of Ichigo right down to the suppression collar.

"Looks like someone brought you a present," he murmured, reaching out to touch the metal circling Ichigo's throat. Golden eyes rose up, studying the spike in the frozen captain's hand. "Looks like he brought one for me, too."

"I can't save them," Ichigo choked, pain wracking his body as he tried to sit up. "Why can't I ever save them?"

Pale fingers splayed against his chest, holding him down with surprising gentleness. The hollow settled next to him stretched out in the grass, bringing them to eye level with an arm still draped across him.

"Fight's not over yet, King," he said with a strange sort of sadness. "There are still some moves left, but you're probably not going to like them."

Ichigo's hand curled over Shiro's arm as he turned to stare at the cloud streaked sky. The sun was beginning to set, dusting the world with shades of warmth and radiance. "What can you do?"

"These collars are meant to hold Shinigami." His fingers traced the metal again, dipping down to slide between the skin and the band. "It only suppresses _Shinigami_ power."

Ichigo's eyes flicked to the spike and then back to the hollow who was studying it as well. Golden eyes traveled higher to Byakuya's face. "He wasn't fast enough."

"Can you save them?" Ichigo whispered, drawing that gaze as he struggled to clear his vision.

The hollow rose up, looking out over the scene, moving over the players like they were pieces on a board. He studied it all for a silent moment, eyes closed-off as though calculating the odds.

"Possibly," he replied, pale brows drawing together, "but it would be ugly and there would be substantial damage. You've wasted a lot of my power playing your little games."

"Please," Ichigo breathed, the pain settling deeper, tendrils of darkness creeping into his vision. "Please, Shiro."

The hollow chuckled faintly, an utterly humorless sound, his fingers falling idly to trace over Ichigo's chest.

"I've longed to hear you beg so many times." His eyes slid over Ichigo's face, lingering on the ones watching him in return. "If it were any other day, I might have taken pleasure, but this…"

His attention turned to the knot of people who would fight to the end as they waited to die; to Renji's moment of clarity and Soifon's hateful grin; and finally to Byakuya, hovering motionless above them. He sank back to the grass, draped half over Ichigo, face dipping down to the crook of his neck.

"I would have done _this_ simply for the asking," he murmured, lips tickling soft over the curve of an ear.

Ichigo's breath hitched, a shudder wracking his frame and the hollow nuzzled closer, covering his body with his own.

"People will die for this; I hope you understand that, King." He pushed up on his elbows to stare at the man below. "There can't be any restrictions, or your precious taste of mercy."

"I know," Ichigo murmured, watching his face as his power uncoiled. "So long as you save them, I don't care what you do."

It was a lie and they both knew it, even as they understood the truth behind it. Ichigo would sacrifice anything to protect his friends; everything he'd worked for, and everything he believed. He would trade his soul for his sister's fading life.

"Kisuke," Ichigo whispered, pain seizing in his chest.

The hollow's form shuddered, his mirrored shell cracking as it started to fall away. Haunted eyes bored into Ichigo as pale brows pulled into a frown. "I can't force Demon away if he doesn't want to go."

"I know," Ichigo choked softly, a trembling hand raising to brush aside pale locks. "I just wish…"

His voice was growing softer, eyes pulling heavy under the call of exhaustion. Shiro settled deeper against him, his façade almost completely stripped away, golden gaze alive with a thousand unreadable things. Ichigo's lashes slid lower and he frowned, shaking his head, fighting the darkness that would inevitably take him. His hand rose sluggishly higher, weighed with the drag of his fading reiatsu, fingers tracing soft over Shiro's pale cheek.

"I didn't think it would end like this," he whispered faint into the stillness.

"We may make it yet," the hollow reminded him, though something in his eyes belied the hope of his words.

Ichigo tried to smile, but he couldn't find the strength, fingers faltering in their study of Shiro's rarely seen true face.

"You really are beautiful," he slurred, hand falling limp as his remaining strength failed him. "He was a fucking idiot."

Shiro caught his sliding fingers, holding them in place as he leaned into the touch. His pale brows pulled softly as he watched dilated eyes slide shut, fluttering for a moment before surrendering the fight.

"I'm sorry I never fucked you," Shiro murmured over his skin. "I would have liked to taste you at least once before the end."

"Incestuous fucker," Ichigo breathed, the ghost of a smile tugging vainly at his unresponsive mouth.

Shiro chuckled faintly— a painful, bittersweet sound— leaning down to frame them in a cascade of pale hair.

"More like advanced masturbation," he whispered across Ichigo's parted lips.

Ichigo choked a little, a final sobbing laugh. The darkness was weightless now, and there was so much left to say.

"Tell Kisuke…gods…tell him…" He couldn't find the words, his thoughts no longer carrying beyond his slowly stilling mind.

"Go to sleep, Ichigo. I'll make it okay." Shiro's lips brushed against his, carrying him gently over the edge. There was nothing left for him to do, and to save them all he had to let go. He felt the final wisps of light trail through his cooling mind, his final thoughts blurring between Shiro's tongue and the waiting darkness.

"Tell him I'm sorry."

.

.

.

* * *

_A/N: I actually got the chapter up before the end of the year! Merry Christmas! Truth be told, I got this chapter back from beta more than a week and a half ago, but life was not being friendly when it came to posting it. Between work, life and random emergencies I was really starting to worry that I wasn't going to get this up before Christmas. But I've succeeded, and that's that!_

_For those of you who read this and get the 'oh no!' face, I can offer you comfort in the knowledge that I've already written the next chapter, and all I need to do is some fine tuning. After that its off to beta and then straight into great tubes of the internet. Hopefully this process goes more smoothly than my posting attempts. Either way, you wont have to wait forever. On that note, I'd like to thank Shiz, my amazing beta for all the hard work she put into this chapter. Without her continuing efforts there would have been a whole lot more confusion, which is not fun for anyone. I'm going to get through this, both for myself and for the people still following the story. It's been a great adventure, and I'm really looking forward to completing the journey. See you all soon!_


	11. Come the Reckoning

**Chapter 11 – Come the Reckoning **

Hitsugaya hissed as a bolt of green light burned through his wing, slamming into his side and taking him to his knees. Beside him, Karin's blue fire had finally ceased to fall, but the Shinigami hadn't recovered, granting him a reprieve from the steady flow of kidou. Soifon lunged, forcing him off balance as he tried to regain his feet, slipping past his defenses with her insane speed. He brought up his arm and felt her tear through flesh, painting a vivid tattoo to match the one she'd been aiming for. She was trying to kill him, he realized distantly, and he wondered if she'd truly gone over the edge.

His wings were his advantage in this particular fight, shielding him from kidou and her deadly, stinging attack. Unfortunately, they'd suffered badly deflecting her initial blast and the steady influx of spells was starting to wear them thin. He gritted his teeth, drawing on the elements, strengthening his defenses as he lashed out again.

Karin screamed from somewhere behind him, the sound jarring his nerves and costing him his edge. He had to get her out of there, for everybody's sake. He could feel Ichigo's panicked rage pulsing through the battlefield as he struggled to reach her. She was a deadly distraction for everyone involved and it was turning the tide against them to cover her position. She screamed again, different this time; a darker, ugly edge tinting its wavering depths.

He lashed out hard, driving Soifon back, overusing his power in the height of his fear. He turned in time to see the blade pull free, spilling Karin's blood vivid across the ground. The sword raised again—a graceful soundless arc—and something inside of him snapped.

He was on the Shinigami before he even knew he'd move, watching the head spin away as the body fell before him. Another wave was coming and he pivoted to face them, cutting them down with shards of ice. They were endless, faceless; coming from all directions with a singular fury.

There was trouble brewing, he could feel it fluttering in his bones on the tide of the battle. Karin's bloody fingers curled slick against his coat and he pulled her to her feet, pressing her behind him, moving to shield Kon in the crimson-splashed grass. Ichigo's tortured scream cut sharp across the chaos, the pull of his reiatsu suddenly writhing in the air. His head snapped around and he saw the man fall, clawing at his throat with Byakuya looming near. A thrill of electric fear ignited in his chest and he felt Urahara responding, though the damage was already done. It was over—the final move—and he realized with sudden clarity that they were all going to die.

Seemingly in response he registered Renji's shout, calling out to Soifon with an edge of panicked horror. Hitsugaya turned, as if in a dream, and saw her sickening sneer; saw the glow forming in her bankai as it trained on Karin's form. He spun without thinking, pulling her body close; turning his back to the inevitable though he knew it would do no good. He didn't have the strength to withstand that kind of blow, not even to shield the others with his final, useless act. He felt her open fire. Heard the scream of Urahara's blast. And in that last, brilliant second, felt something dark crash into the clearing.

The world exploded into light and heat, a vortex of destruction that bathed the hill in ash. Hitsugaya tensed for the inevitable pain, fingers threaded through Karin's tangled hair, but it never came. The world had stilled in the heart of the chaos.

Power rang in his ears, a brief, fleeting vertigo, and he gritted his teeth as he tried to clear his head. Something shifted behind him in the space that had been empty, moving so close that it brushed against his wings. He spun, releasing the girl in his arms, readying himself for whatever came next.

Pale, blond hair drifted on the dying wind, caressing Hitsugaya's cheek as he stared dumbfounded. The figure swayed heavily, dropping to one knee, long hair spilling onto the grass around him. Hitsugaya moved on instinct, catching a white-clad shoulder, holding him in place when he swayed again. The man turned slowly, staring briefly at the hand before seeking out the captain's wide-eyed gaze.

"Oh, gods…" Hitsugaya gasped, stumbling in his haste to pull away.

Slender fingers lifted, trembling slightly under the strain, dark blood dripping from his already healing wounds. Hitsugaya's gaze flicked from the hand to his face, familiar and yet foreign in his shock-addled brain. Pale, flawless skin seemed to glow from within, brushed with a flush of exertion and pain. A thin, crimson stripe ran from the peak of his hairline, branching into twin strokes to paint vivid over his eyelids. The markings dipped lower, following the curve of his cheekbones, trailing down his neck to meet a fir-trimmed collar.

Hitsugaya had only seen him a handful of times, but the memory was scarred into the back of his mind.

"Shiro," he breathed, unaware he was even speaking, fear and apprehension warring with relief in his chest.

"Hello, Little Dragon." Golden eyes shifted up, meeting the wary gaze with a faintly curling smirk. He rose slowly, snow white daito trailing soundless through the grass.

The smoke that had shrouded them was already beginning to fade and beyond it they could hear the Shinigami closing in. Karin slid into view, clutching Hitsugaya's sleeve, hand pressed to her side to stem the flow of blood. She stared up with pain-filled eyes at the man who wasn't a man, the brother who wasn't her brother.

"I'm sorry," she choked, fingers tightening on Hitsugaya's arm. "He told me to stay away, but I didn't listen."

Shiro remained silent, his gaze dropping to her side, frowning at the blood rolling thick over her fingers. He turned his head, seeking out Kon, reading the agony in his labored, hitching breath. He swore softly, glancing over his shoulder into the waning smoke.

A cry rang out in the clearing; a sharp, panicked sound as the first Shinigami spotted him. He unwound his reiatsu, sending it out through the ranks and the cry was echoed a hundredfold as the pulse of fear spiked. Renji was struggling with a livid Soifon, thrashing violently as he tried to hold her in place. Their eyes snapped up as Shiro brushed against them and he met Soifon's gaze, lips pulling back on a feral grin. Soon—only moments until he could play.

They were coming faster now—the swarm of Shinigami—fear and surprise making them reckless in their haste. Shiro turned on Hitsugaya, boxing Kon between them, glancing down briefly with a calculating frown. His hand shot out, tangling in snowy hair, pulling the young captain flush against his chest.

"Are you afraid yet, Little Dragon?" He murmured softly, his daito slipping behind them as his arm encircled Karin.

The noise swelled louder, the ground shaking with the thunder of feet. The sky above them was thick with the glow of incoming kidou.

"Yes," Hitsugaya whispered, meeting that taunting gaze, shifting his stance to better shelter Kon.

Pale lashes fell over golden eyes as Shiro leaned in close, a dark chuckle stirring the inch between them. The whine of a zanpakuto hissed through the air and the gold went bright, glowing like twin suns under the release of the hollow's power.

"Kuro Enkou," he breathed over the young captain's mouth, inhaling the gasp that was torn in reply.

Hitsugaya felt his knees give out, his bankai shattering as Shiro's Dark Halo crashed through the clearing. The Shinigami fell, lost in the chaos, swept off their feet in a wave of black fire. Even as it spread Shiro released his hold, letting the captain fall and lowering Karin into the grass. He dropped to Kon's side, driving his daito rough into the ground, tearing hands away to assess the damage.

"I can't have you in there," he said distractedly, ignoring the confused look he got in reply.

Kon didn't have time to ask as the hollow swooped down, catching bloodied lips in a rough, demanding kiss. Kon struggled weakly, trying to turn his head, but the hollow growled to hold him in place, fingers gripping his jaw to pry his mouth open. Shiro breathed in with a spike of dark reiatsu and Kon's resistance ceased as his body fell limp. Karin made a sound of distress but the hollow didn't stop, pulling back to stare at the husk, a green orb caught firmly between his teeth.

Pale fingers punched through ragged flesh, tearing into the chest wound without the slightest hesitation. Karin stifled a scream as she tried to lunge forward, but Hitsugaya caught her arm, pulling her back. The hollow's reiatsu spiked, rough with haste but still tightly controlled. There was silence for a moment—a few, agonizing seconds—and all around they could feel the Shinigami beginning to recover. Shiro's fingers tore free with brutal disregard and he leaned in swiftly to recapture parted lips.

Kon coughed roughly, back arching off the ground, clawing at his chest as the flesh began to knit. Shiro spared him a brief, clinical look before turning on Karin, pulling away the hand that was pressed to her side. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and tore it up the seam, exposing her flesh to get a better look.

"Be careful," Hitsugaya hissed, but it fell on deaf ears. There was no time for careful even if he'd cared.

Karin choked on a cry as his fingers probed the wound, trying not to move as he pressed in deeper.

"Are you going to kiss me, too?" She gritted through her teeth, and it was hard to tell if she was serious or trying to make a joke.

He finally saw fit to address her, "Sucking out _your _soul would be counterproductive."

The words were harsh, but there was a faint softening to his features and to the fingers on her skin. She hissed again and Shiro finally relented, his hands dropping from her aching side.

"I can't fix you," he said flatly, seeking out her gaze. "I don't know your body and I don't have time to learn it."

His eyes shifted, sweeping over Kon before landing on Hitsugaya, who had risen to stand.

"She needs attention soon, and someone will have to carry her. You're going to need to run and she can't keep up."

The captain nodded curtly, re-summoning his bankai, scooping her off the ground as carefully as he could. Shiro stood smoothly with a glance over his shoulder to gauge the Shinigami. He turned to Kon, who was struggling to his feet, black and gold meeting chocolate brown.

"Take care of it," the hollow said, nodding toward his body; eyes skimming his chest where the wound still shown raw. "I won't always be there to patch up the hardware."

Kon's fingers rose, touching the metal at Shiro's throat, sliding fast along its curve in search of any weakness. "You won't be able to use his power."

"It won't matter," Shiro replied, allowing the intrusion with surprising ease.

"It will," Kon insisted, frowning as he worked, "The disruption of his power is echoing in yours, and you're already showing strain."

Kon had been built to assess an opponent's threat, to gauge their abilities and the level of their power. He was also incredibly sensitive to Ichigo's reiatsu and, by default, to the being that lay within. Shiro's fingers curled over his wrist, stilling his hand and drawing his gaze.

"It doesn't matter," the hollow repeated softly, and a dawning understanding passed through the mod soul's eyes.

Shiro tilted his head, listening to the approaching roar, stepping closer to Hitsugaya and drawing Kon with him.

"Try to brace yourself better, Dragon." His voice dipped lower as his eyes started to shine.

Hitsugaya's lips parted on some retort, but Shiro's second Dark Halo tore the air from his lungs. The wave broke loose and the captain's eyes rolled, but he managed to keep his balance, shielding Karin the best he could. Shiro stepped back, watching it rip through the Shinigami, speaking to the captain without bothering to turn.

"Go now, before they know what's happening."

"Wait," Karin gasped, reaching out to grab the hollow's sleeve. "Where are you going?"

He turned to meet her gaze, an odd smile lingering on his lips. "If I leave now, whoever will play with all of my new toys?"

"No," she shouted, voice tight with rising panic. "You have to come with us. We can't leave you here."

He stepped forward suddenly, fingers rising to graze her forehead, smearing it with the blood still fresh on his skin. "You're going to be beautiful someday, little princess. Don't let this break you."

His eyes flicked to Hitsugaya, giving a sharp nod, and the captain pivoted around, cutting off Karin's cry as he stepped into shunpo. Kon lingered for a second, staring out into the battlefield, torn with indecision before he finally turned to follow. Shiro watched him go, hopping along the ruins of the forest before finally disappearing behind the tree line.

It was over. He was free.

Shiro turned, lips pulling back on a sharp grin as he blasted a kidou unit with a pitch black cero. They screamed and he laughed, streaking into the clearing with a speed they couldn't match. The whine of kidou tore through the air, dotting the sky like a thousand flaming arrows, beautiful and useless. He danced between the volleys, firing off waves of merciless destruction, pale hair whipping in the tempest of his reiatsu.

Through the smoke and the chaos Demon was burning, reiatsu licking his body as he drove Kira back. Hisagi lay prone amidst the smoldering grass, his body twitching faintly as though trying to rise. Three Shinigami darted forward, dragging him toward the trees, keeping out of reach of the furiously engaged fighters. Kira's skill was no match for Urahara's, but his bankai had a range that make up for his shortcoming. Urahaha shot forward, slipping beneath an attack, slamming his palm to the ground with an unintelligible shout. The grass exploded, throwing Kira back and choking him with a cloud of burning debris.

Seemingly in response Shiro felt a spike of reiatsu, leaping away on instinct from the unknown assault. A burst of high level kidou tore the ground beneath him, knocking him through the air on the edge if it's massive shockwave. He jerked his body around, managing to land on his feet, spotting Soifon already moving to attack. His manic grin pulled wider as he darted forward, but Urahara slammed into her before he ever got close. Black and gold met wary red, the hollow tilting his head at the closed-off look. Demon was unhappy, the fury and agitation rolling off him in waves. No time for worries, though, because he was already gone, clashing with Soifon and robbing Shiro of his prey. The hollow growled but turned away, plenty of toys without having to share.

Renji was approaching fast, having dismissed his bankai in favor of speed. His attention was still fixed on Soifon, which wasn't the wisest choice. Shiro's grin slipped, a frown knotting his brows, but his body was already angling to intercept. The redhead saw him coming, Zabimaru rising between them, but his weakened resolve was blatant, screaming sick across the air. Shiro dodged to the right, lips curling in disgust before blasting him with a cero that took the captain off his feet. Renji fell hard, crashing through the trees, driven deeper into the forest as the blast refused to die.

Kira was closing in, trying to catch the hollow from behind until Shiro's third Dark Halo shattered the world around them. A pain was starting to thrum, spreading out from the hole in his chest, a warning against his displays of power which he blatantly ignored. He pulled his reiatsu in, winding it tight around his body, making him harder to track as he shot into the forest.

Renji was just regaining his feet as Shiro fell on him, the clash of steel on steel ringing sharp through the air. The hollow dodged a blow, cutting deep into Renji's shoulder, white daito ducking the whipping counter to slice across his chest.

"Is this all you have left, you broken monkey bitch?" Shiro's voice rolled thick with disgust.

"It's all your fault," Renji growled in reply, Zabimaru splintering a tree as the hollow leapt aside. "We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you!"

The redhead's rage was rising, overwhelming his better judgment, his moves turning erratic as he continued to lash out wildly. Shiro snarled at him, angry and bitter.

"You should have died in your bitch's place," the hollow bit out harshly, catching him in the thigh as the captain stumbled at the words. "At least she knew what loyalty meant."

The barb hit its mark, and hit it hard. Renji screamed—a horrible, broken sound of rage—Zabimaru swinging wide as he lunged for the hollow.

"_Fuck_ you, Shiro," he shouted, barely avoiding decapitation at the edge of a blood-washed blade. "You don't know anything, you shitty fucking hollow!"

Shiro landed softly, feeling the tingle of approaching reiatsu. The Shinigami were closing around them, spreading like a virus through the smoke and trees. They were hunting him as best they could, but he didn't feel like being caught.

He darted forward in a blur of motion, once again sliding easily under Renji's guard. Pale fingers closed rough around the Shinigami's throat, sweeping him off his feet and dragging him further from their aid. The larger man slammed into a tree, his head snapping back as sparks danced through his vision. A white daito flashed cruelly, sliding sharp through Renji's flesh, pinning his shoulder to the wood and dragging a cry from his lips. A hand caught Renji's free arm as he tried to swing, twisting it mercilessly until Zabimaru fell away. Shiro released his blade, trailing his hand up Renji's throat, pressing into the bruises that were already starting to form.

"I know more than you think, you useless, traitorous fuck." Shiro's breath was hot against Renji's face, his fingers squeezing tighter as the man tried to reply. "I know you're a broken shell of a child, still screaming that life's not fair."

Renji's eyes flashed with tortured rage, blood splattering the ground as he tried to pull free. Shiro leaned closer, trapping him with his body, lips pulling back on a vicious snarl.

"I know if your precious love was here, she'd be bleeding in the grass. They'd have cut her down with the rest of us, because that's where she'd be: Fighting against all of you." Renji look like he'd been struck, but Shiro didn't care, his whisper sharp as glass as he drove the knife deeper. "She'd have drawn her line on that hill, standing between the Shinigami and the girl she _died to protect_."

Something broke behind Renji's gaze, a shiver running through his captive frame.

"I didn't know it would be like that…" he choked out, drawing a painful breath when the pale fingers eased.

"You knew," the hollow breathed, looking at him like he was a pitiful, disgusting thing. "You knew and you just let it happen because you're nothing but a coward."

"I didn't think she'd get hurt," Renji pleaded, the fight seeping out of him as cold settled in. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. This wasn't the vision he'd seen for himself.

"A pathetic excuse from a pathetic Shinigami, Abari-_taichou._"

Shiro's fingers slid from his throat, curling around the daito still buried in his flesh. The Shinigami were closing in, but their fear was making them cautious, granting him time to torment his victim.

"You know what else I know?" Shiro growled viciously, twisting the blade when the captain remained silent. He leaned in close, drinking in his pain, pale lips twitching against wild, red hair. "She would have been ashamed of you."

Renji's tortured gasp became a choked off cry as the daito pulled free, sending him staggering. Shiro pivoted gracefully, giving him no time to react, blade whistling softly to splash crimson through the air. Renji's eyes went wide, meeting impassive gold and black, lips parting soundlessly as he fell to his knees. Shiro turned away, staring out between the trees, anger simmering deep at the edge of his fractured composure.

"Why?" Renji choked, confusion heavy in his tone.

He looked up at the hollow, kneeling in the ruins of his scattered hair, his anguish half-hidden by the tendrils falling in his eyes.

"You _want_ to die, and I'm not feeling generous." Shiro spared him a cold look, but there was something lurking deep, just out of reach. He lingered for a second before he seemed to shake it off; disappearing wordlessly as the first Shinigami arrived.

A frown knotted pale brows as the trees sped by, the pulse of reiatsu surging all around him. He shook his head to loosen the shadows, letting his feet carry him swiftly toward the clearing. Something tickled against his wrist and he glanced down at the long strands of red still caught between his fingers. They reeked of weakness, both Renji's and his own. He growled, flinging them away, letting the manic smile drift almost believably to his lips.

He tore from the treeline, dodging jets of kidou with a lazy grace, the Shinigami fast on his trail. He spun, hair dancing on the air around him, and blasted a wave of energy back into their midst. Across the field Urahara was fighting, still baiting Kira but keeping his blood-shield engaged. Something shimmered to the left of the battle and the crimson barrier splintered under some unknown attack. Shiro growled, scanning the trees for Soifon, knowing only a captain would warrant such a defense. A short burst of reiatsu found her quickly enough, sprawled against ground in a spreading pool of blood. A group of officers were working over her frantically and by their harrowed expressions it seemed Demon's teeth were starting to show. Shiro's pointed grin died in its infancy, because with the bitch out of play there was only one suspect.

He started to dart forward but drew up short, taking to the air as spikes of kidou slammed into the earth. He spun to the right, his daito flashing up, catching Kazeshini against its gore-splashed edge. Hisagi jumped back but Shiro stayed on him, clipping him in the thigh and knocking him to the ground. He drew back as the support kidou fell, throwing out a pair of ceros and reassessing his position.

Hisagi shouldn't be there, he should be writhing on the ground; hidden amongst the trees as his team worked to save him. Golden eyes narrowed as Shiro pivoted sharply, seeking out Soifon in her blood-washed bed. She was still where he'd left her, under the care of her frantic saviors, but the faint glow of gold brought a growl to his lips. Fourth division. Combat medic units.

Shiro leapt away, driving deeper into the clrearing, raining dark fire into the enemy ranks. There were more of them than there should be, considering those he knew had fallen; more even than could be accounted for with the fourth's intervention. It seemed reinforcements had arrived while his attention had been on Renji. He swore sharply, dodging a fresh wave of kidou, sweeping the fresh units for a clue of the stakes.

It wasn't hard once he knew where to look, with each of the squads brandishing its own unique style. The whole of fourth division seemed to be spread across the field, raising the fallen like a necromantic swarm. If that were the end of it, he wouldn't have given pause, but he caught a hint of madness in the rolling current of battle. Intermixed with the others were flickers of manic excitement, wisps of darker longing in the unstable bursts of power. Twelvth division had taken to the field, forming broken ranks and pressing the assault. This was trouble of a very real sort. Twelveth division meant Mayuri, and Mayuri meant…

Shiro's head whipped around in time to catch the explosion, Demon barely holding against a surge of violet fire. This was bad. Mayuri was dangerous at the best of times, and his unbridled hatred of Urahara was bordering on obsession. Shiro's lips pulled back in a feral snarl, his feet already moving as something caught his attention.

Byakuya was running along the edge of the trees, closing in on the hollow or possibly looking for Renji. All thoughts of Mayuri fled, rage narrowing his focus to a single, hateful point. He lunged forward with a singular fury, his gore-streaked blade cutting sharp through the air. Byakuya pivoted elegantly, bringing up Senbonzakura, deflecting the blow easily as he slid to one side. Too easily. There was too much history there, too many battles fought side by side. Of all the people in existence, only a handful could boast knowing the hollow so well. He growled, a vicious, scathing sound as he bore down on one of the only creatures he'd ever considered an ally.

"Stop this madness," Byakuya shouted, scattering Senbonzakura to combat the hollow's speed.

"Fuck your madness." Shiro snarled, "You can burn for all I care."

Byakuya's eyes narrowed as he unleashed his bankai, hands rising through the air to direct the deadly flow.

"It didn't have to end this way," the captain bit out, a flicker of true regret whispering over his face.

"You, of all people, would know that," the hollow hissed, driving him back with sheer, raw power.

They flew together, speed on speed, Senbonzakura glittering on the air around them. Byakuya was fast, but Shiro was faster, forcing the captain to struggle to keep the hollow at bay. They raced along the treeline as the kidou started to thin, the lesser Shinigami unable to distinguish friend from foe. Shiro feigned right, slipping beneath the arching flow, blade sliding sharp over Byakuya's flesh.

The hollow danced away, his blade rising through the air, running his fingers over the fresh wash of blood. He raised the fingers to his mouth, smearing a vivid trail over his lips, holding the other man's gaze through the swirl of metal between them. His teeth slid out, dragging over the surface, his lashes falling slightly to mask his rolling fury.

"You taste like cowardice and betrayal, Kuchiki."

Byakuya's eyes flickered but he didn't miss a beat, tightening his defenses as the hollow lunged again. Shiro's rage was screaming, choking the cooling air, laced with the threads of a deeper hurt. A wave of kidou licked across the ground and Shiro caught it against his palm, heedless of the damage. The burn in his chest was thrumming now and he knew he was being reckless but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"This isn't the answer," Byakuya snapped, his reiatsu spinning around him as he readied his next assault. "I know you don't want this."

"What would you know about what I want?" Shiro snarled, sliding through the flurry like a vengeful wraith. "I want to feel your blood dripping down my hands."

His diato flashed dully, opening a gash along Byakuya's side but Senbonzakura tore through his leg and robbed him of his prize. He leapt back angrily, moving further into the clearing, drawing on his powers to heal as Byakuya shifted to follow.

"I want to tear your whole world down around me," Shiro growled, blasting a volley of vicious ceros at the units who'd come within range.

He launched himself at the captain, lips pulling back on a snarl of rage.

"I want to eat your souls and burn your families and scream to the sky like a fucking animal because that's all I am, right? Just a mindless, fucking hollow?"

"You're breaking his mind, Shiro," Byakuya bit out, voice tight with a hundred writhing emotions. "You're out of control and it has to_ stop_."

Shiro deflected Senbonzakura against his arm, blood spattering dark along the length of his side. He stabbed through the opening to clip the captain in the chest, but slid off his ribs when the man hardened his reiatsu. The captain fell back, weaving the glittering shards around him, far more familiar with his methods of attack than Shiro ever should have allowed.

"I DON'T NEED TO BE CONTROLED!" Shiro screamed, rage twisting hard with bitter despair. "I surrendered that fight years ago, or have you already forgotten? Two years, four months and thirteen fucking days, to be exact. If anyone's breaking him, it's you."

Shiro withdrew to calm the rising tempest, trying to stamp down the anger burning heavy in his throat. He couldn't give in to the screaming fury. He missed the flash of green streaking in from behind, the support forces moving during his momentary slip. Senbonzakura shifted, arching brilliant through the air, catching the blast on its glittering flow. Their eyes sought each other, Byakuya's flaring in surprise. He'd done it on instinct—an unconscious move—an ingrained response to seeing Shiro in danger. It was the epitome of why the whole thing was fucked; an affront to everything they had ever believed. It made Shiro hate him that much more.

"We cannot risk that you've changed your mind," Byakuya countered, sounding like he hated himself for the words. "That you've taken the easy opening when the path became rough."

"Not all of us are that weak, Kuchiki," Shiro spat, already streaking forward to re-enter the fray.

They rolled together, fighting for dominance, but Shiro's anger dulled his speed and allowed the captain to hold his ground. Skirting the clearing, Urahara was still burning but his movements were slowing as his reiatsu started to wane. It was a game of time now, of numbers and patience. The Shinigami were hanging back, leery of the enemy, trying to conserve their strength for when they were needed. They were relying on their captains to handle the fight from here.

Shiro spun to the right, firing off a cero, trying to clear an opening for the still-outnumbered blond. He knew Demon wouldn't leave, and there was little to be done, but he might well be the only ally the hollow still had left. That alone was worth whatever he had to offer. He turned back to Byakuya, to the anger and betrayal, feeling the bloodlust starting to rise.

"You fucking hypocritical shit," he snarled, lashing out hard and fast. "Where's that bullshit honor you were always bitching about? Where's the self-righteous asshole I trusted with my life?"

Byakuya didn't respond, focusing his efforts on dodging the blows. As the hollow's rage burned colder his manic speed increased.

"Was this the future you saw in your dreams?" The pale blade whispered as it cut through the air. "Is this what you bought with all of that blood?"

Byakuya grunted as the blade nicked his thigh, shifting Senbonzakura too slowly to catch the hollow.

"What's a little more blood, right, Kuchiki?" There was a deeper weariness settling in his chest, eclipsing the pain of his shivering reiatsu. "Just one more loose end to toss out with the trash."

Byakuya turned, following his path, a flutter in his bankai matching the tremor within.

"I never wanted this," the captain confessed, "but you're tearing my world apart and I cannot allow it."

"It's my world, too," Shiro bit out, the cold throbbing deeper in the pit of his being. "Or is even that too good for me now?"

Byakuya flinched, a barely there movement, but it was more than enough for the hollow to use. He slid beneath the defenses, drawing in close, bringing them face to face as the blades danced around them.

"Should I die for you, Bya?" he murmured softly, an infinite pain tangled deep in the anger. "Is that what it takes for the world to make sense?"

Byakuya hesitated, attack stilling mid-air, Senbonzakura answering the conflict within. His lips parted soundlessly, dark brows pulling together, but he seemed to lose whatever words had drifted to his tongue. Shiro's face snapped closed, reading the answer in the silence, a numb sort of emptiness dulling the pain.

He twitched so fast that he blurred to invisible, and Byakuya's eyes went wide as the blade sunk through his chest. Pale fingers twisted against the hilt of the paler daito, pushing it further, piercing though Byakuya's back. It was strangely fitting—an echo of the wound the captain had once given Ichigo. A laughing twist of fate. Shiro leaned forward, bringing them inches apart, watching the pain dance in Byakuya's eyes.

"Fuck you, Bya," he whispered over his skin. "I don't owe you anything."

Urahara was closing the distance fast, throwing himself between the legion and their unmoving target. There was a flash of crimson from somewhere behind Shiro, and distantly he heard the Shinigami screaming but he didn't even look. Byakuya's lashes fluttered, lips parting on a gasp as a tremor ran through him.

A silence seemed to have fallen over the remaining Shinigami, a collective gasp of shock and horror. Shiro didn't spare them a thought, unleashing his Dark Halo into the battered world. It pulled a strained gasp from his own pale lips. The ache was burning deep, but it no longer mattered. Nothing had ever mattered, except for this.

He leaned forward again, closing the space between them, licking a trail of blood splashed dark over parted lips. A frown pulled at pale brows, molten gold and black coiling with warring emotion.

"I thought it would feel different," he confessed quietly, speaking more to himself than to the dying man. "There should be vindication and triumph, all the things your blood owes me, but it's just…empty."

Byakuya choked again, blood running down his chin, eyes rolling slightly as the darkness tried to take him. His lips parted and then closed again, parting once more as through trying to form words. Shiro's fingers pressed against them, stilling the attempt.

"You don't get to speak," the hollow whispered faintly, the words laced with a deadly calm. "The time for talk has long since passed, and you just watched it go."

Shiro moved so fast that Byakuya couldn't react, slamming his daito home with a brutal thrust. The guard pressed flush against his blood-soaked robes and the captain choked out a gurgling cry. His body shivered, going momentarily stiff, before he slumped against the hollow as his strength gave out. Shiro growled low in his throat, eyes raking the other's face, searching for something he couldn't even define. His frown deepened, teeth clenching hard against a howl of rage.

"Am I not even worthy of this?" He screamed at the dying captain, bitterness and despair thick in his voice. "Even now, in the final moment, it's all just…meaningless."

The blade ripped free with a horrible, wet sound, his eyes still locked on the captain as the man fell to his knees. A pale hand shot out, tangling in midnight strands, holding him up as his body tried to give out. He shook him hard, as though trying to wring some truth from silent lips, but none came. It was as it had always been, and it tore a broken sound of rage and grief from the hollow's throat.

The Shinigami had faltered, frozen in uncertainty, but they were finally starting to stir as the shock set in. The flicker of kidou burned through the air, painting the world in kaleidoscope color, and Shiro watched the shadows dance over the captain's face.

There was sudden burst of reiatsu and Urahara was at his back, dropping his bankai as he caught the hollow around the waist. The world tilted sharply as he stepped into shunpo, dragging Shiro and his bloody prize from the wash of destruction. He stepped twice more as the Shinigami moved to follow, scorching the world in their wind-blurred wake. A sharp spike of reiatsu drew them up short, Mayuri's psychotic resonance closing in fast. Urahara swore sharply and Shiro twisted against him, firing off a cero toward the approaching captain.

"We have to go," Urahara hissed, sweeping the area for immediate threats.

"Then go," Shiro snarled, shoving the man away. "No one is keeping you here, least of all me."

A blast of golden lightning missed the hollow by inches and his lips pulled back on a vicious growl. He released a wave of shapeless black fire, a surge of pure hatred in physical form. He could feel the madness pulling at his mind, begging for the release of his berserker rage. He wished he could comply but he'd exhausted too much power; he was unable to make the transition to his second release form. His fingers twisted in the hair still caught between them, and he glanced down for a moment, his focus faltering.

"I won't leave you here," Urahara was close again. "Not like this. Not alone."

"Then you'll die, Demon," Shiro said softly, finally tearing his eyes from the man at his feet.

The former captain met his gaze without flinching, a dozen different emotions dancing beneath the surface. "So be it."

Something flickered in Shiro's chest and he started to reply but drew up short, teeth pulling back as he fired a Cero over the other man's shoulder. Urahara was moving as well, lashing out with Benihime, throwing up a shield between Shiro and an incoming blast. The explosion rocked the clearing, spiderweb cracks tracing the barrier as Urahara called on his reserves. They were in a bad position and it was only getting worse, but even as Urahara opened his mouth to speak the hollow threw back his head and screamed.

"Kuro Kajiarashi!"

The air around them tore under the weight of his power, the world dissolving into armageddon as his Dark Firestorm raged to life. The earth seemed to shift, twisting against the sky, the screams of the Shinigami lost to power spinning dark around them. Shiro swayed in the eye of the storm, groaning in pain as Urahara steadied him from behind.

"Don't do this," the former captain hissed, fingers curling into the hole in the hollow's chest as he fought to keep him upright.

"It's already done," the hollow spat back, shuddering as a spasm rolled up his spine.

"Ichigo wouldn't want this," Urahara growled, sounding like he was struggling to contain his frustration. "_You_ don't want this!"

"Fuck all of you." Shiro bit out, wishing he could shove him away again, but his reiatsu was fading and the ache was throbbing deep. "He asked me for this." A twisting of the truth. "He begged me to do the things that he couldn't."

Urahara scoffed, but he didn't refute the claim; they both knew Ichigo well enough to read the truth.

"You should be running," Shiro sighed, the anger started to fade with nowhere left to focus. A creeping sense of finality was starting to spread through his being. He leaned into the man behind him, the weariness settling into his bones.

"Not without you," Urahara said softly, and for a moment the hollow could almost believe the words were meant for him. "We have to go before they close the net entirely."

"Go where, Demon?" Shiro asked quietly, a cold sort of loneliness stirring through his voice. "Where will we run that they won't follow?"

"We've faced worse than this," Urahara replied, but there was a forced quality to the words that made the hollow sneer.

"Are your lies supposed to comfort me, or are you really starting to believe them?" He chided, trying for distain but coming up short. "There's only one way we can end this little party."

Shiro felt Urahara turn his head, staring out into the screaming fire; felt his jaw clench as his thoughts began to spin. There was no escaping this. The Shinigami would tear the world apart to find them, and Tessai, the children, even Ichigo's neglected friends would likely be caught in the resulting storm. It had been his final promise—to save the others—and he'd intended to keep it from the very beginning. It was the end of the road, time to cut the line before everyone got pulled in with them. Urahara had been a captain, he knew how it worked. He'd seen it too many times to ignore, even if he wanted to.

"We surrender," the blond said quietly, still watching the dancing flames. "If we let them take us now it might calm their rage, allow the others more time to go to ground."

"We won't make it off the field alive, the Shinigami will see to that." Shiro turned against him, shifting to watch his face as the blond's arm tightened around him. "And even if we did, what would be the alternative? A public execution in front of his former friends?"

"There is always another way," Urahara said softly, the lie tasting bitter on the back of his tongue.

"We both know how this ends," Shiro sounded tired, resting his forehead against Urahara's cheek as his power started to dwindle. "Would you condemn him to die alone for your own selfishness?"

Urahara turned his head, the rough scrape of stubble sliding over pale skin. Shiro drew back, watching the pain dance in his eyes, the agony so close he could almost taste it in the air.

"If it comes down to it, he won't die alone," Urahara promised, and Shiro felt something flicker in the pit of his soul.

He paused for a heartbeat—the fire around them starting to thin—and then he sighed, an ancient, weary sound.

"You're a fool, Demon, but for all the right reasons," he murmured, hitched breath matching the flicker of dark power. "Everything you do is so elegantly hopeless."

Pale fingers rose slowly to brush aside filthy, blond hair, tracing the curve of a gore-splattered ear. It had been so long since he'd touched someone gently, and the movements felt foreign to his trembling limb. He followed the line of a gash marring a high cheekbone, and Urahara allowed it, never breaking his gaze. Breath ghosted hot over the tips of his fingers as he mapped the contours of slightly chapped lips. It was all so familiar, even as it was all so wrong, and he wished for a moment that he could pretend it didn't matter. _This_ was what it should have been, staring at him with such brutal intensity. But those eyes didn't see _him_ and he'd never wanted them to. They were all wrong, and it _did_ matter, even though he hated it. His hand fell away.

"I'll give you your chance, but you know you can't save him, you'll follow him to his death and it'll hurt him that much more. You'll tell him the truth, if you can bring yourself to admit it, and then watch him die because it's the only choice you'll have."

Shiro swayed again and gritted his teeth, meeting the grey-green gaze shot through with confusion.

"Lying to yourself doesn't make the truth less true. It just means that you weren't strong enough to face it," he continued cryptically, gaze dropping to the captain kneeling limp at his side. "Truth is your only freedom."

The burn in his chest had started to run cold, sparks shooting through his vision he struggled for breath.

"Will you be my priest, Kisuke?" He whispered softly, staring down at Byakuya as the blood seeped through his robes. "Witness my final, pathetic confession?"

He slid to his knees in the matted grass, fingers twisting in dark hair to keep Byakuya in place. Hazy grey met gold and black as the captain struggled to hold the threads of his life.

"I loved you, you coward," Shiro murmured over his skin, pale brows pulling on the flow of pained regret. "You made me weak and I wish I could hate you for it, but I just can't. Even now."

He released his hold on the inky locks, fingers jamming into his wound to keep him from falling. Byakuya gasped—a nearly silent sound—the pain just enough to bring his gaze back sharp. Shiro leaned in so their lips slid together, smearing cooling blood slick across his skin.

"I _still _love you," he breathed into his mouth, a shudder running through him as his reiatsu went erratic.

His power fell silent and his body went limp, tangling with the captain as they slumped against each other. They fell together at Urahara's feet and all around the clearing the fire began to fade, burning into oblivion in the nearly dark sky.

"See," Shiro whispered, cheek pressed to the broken earth. "It's not that hard. You're all just cowards."

Urahara felt wooden, watching as the hollow's long hair started to dissolve into nothing, his power too depleted to continue holding the form. A flicker of movement finally caught his eye and he turned, staring out into the Shinigami through the battle hazed air. They were coming again, a writhing mass of endless reiatsu and though his fingers twitched on Benihime's hilt he let the tip fall to rest against the ground.

He shifted sideways, trying to shield the fallen men, blade falling away as he raised his hands in a show of surrender.

The first blast grazed his side, taking him to his knee with a grunt of pain. They weren't going to stop; he'd known Shiro was right, their anger and battlelust burning too bright. Before the shock of the first spell faded a bolt of electric fire hit him in the chest, bowing his spine sharp as his mouth opened on a silent scream. He fell, shoulder jamming hard into the ground, unable to move as spasms wracked his frame.

Focusing past his twitching fingers he saw that Ichigo's eyes were open, lashes swept low over hazy, chocolate brown. He was watching him die, unable to move, and even through the pain Urahara could see his helpless torment. It wasn't right that he had to watch; the final horror in his broken life. Urahara gritted his teeth, forcing his arm to rise, reaching out to shield him from his last few moments of life. A rod of light slammed through his wrist, pinning it between them, and his vision swam as another pierced his thigh. The sky was alight with brilliant spikes, hurtling ruthlessly toward them in a strangely beautiful arch. A single tear slid over Ichigo's nose, glittering in the chaos as it dropped to the earth below. Shiro was right. This was a thousand times worse, an ending steeped in agony over a final, selfish wish.

The air seemed to shimmer, glittering faintly against the sky, and an explosion shattered the clearing as Senbonzakura took the blow. Byakuya stirred slowly, rising up on shaking arms, head dipped low under the crush of another blast. Blood flowed sluggishly from his slowly healing wound, but his body was exhausted and he couldn't support his weight. He slumped to the ground, Senbonzakura falling around them, too little too late to stop the incoming volley. The Shinigami were yelling, having realized he was alive, but there was no way to call back what had already been released.

Urahara felt detached, his spinning worries finally swept clean. He realized, distantly, that Shiro had missed his mark; a hair's breadth away from severing the captain's reiatsu. He realized, also, that the hollow had healed the man, and that it spoke of a deeper connection than he ever would have guessed. The glow of incoming kidou lit Byakuya's pale face, revealing his trembling fingers as they curled over Ichigo's hand. No,_ Shiro's_ hand. The black was trying to creep back across one of Ichigo's eyes, but there was no reiatsu left, and it slipped away to nothing.

A shadow passed overhead and Urahara felt his consciousness slip, his lips curling faintly on his final thought as Zabimaru settled around them.

Through the bitter cynicism, Shiro still had _hope_.

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_A/N: First off, I want to thank everyone who reviewed my last chapter. Your continued support, even after all this time, has really helped me get this far._

_I can't even begin to explain my trials with this chapter. Between some very major life changes, and some extremely moody muses, it was a long journey. Sometimes a painful journey. Hopefully you think it was worth it! I want to especially thank my beta, Shiz, for her endless supply of patience. She can be hard on me sometimes, but it's all for the best, and hopefully her dedication shines though in the final product._

_Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. This is not the end, in case anyone was wondering. I'm hoping to get the next chapter out in a much timelier manner. I'd also love to hear from anyone who has the time. Reviews really do brighten my day!_

_Okay, I'm off. Until next time…_


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